My Life is in Shambles
by Timid Wild One
Summary: Hermione is back at Hogwarts for her seventh and final year. She's tired of everyone seeing her as the Nerd Queen of the Universe, so she decides to change her image. Doesn't help she has a huge crush on the Slytherin Prince. Chapter 29 up!
1. Introducing

**Yet another attempt at fanfiction, by me, Carrie. I based this a wee bit on one of my favorite movies of all time. Read on and see if you can figure out which one it is. (To those who don't like to guess, I'll tell next chapter, okay?)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hermione, I do not own Draco, I do not own a house, I do not own a mouse...you get the idea.**

**0000000000**

My name is Hermione Granger, and as of 10:30 AM, Thursday, September 1st, my life sucks.

It sucks ass.

Why is that, you ask? Well listen my children and you shall hear: not only is it my seventh and final year at Hogwarts (this makes me a bit sad because I love this school and leaving it means I have venture out into the "real world" which means I actually have to work for a living...), but I am returning to school without having done anything remotely interesting over the summer.

Oh wait. My bad. I did do one thing over the summer that, to most girls, would be the prime topic of conversation for at least the first two or three weeks of school, seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day.

I had my first kiss. That magical moment where you realize that someone loves you, that they may even want to unite themselves with you in the most intimate act that can occur between a man and a woman. The moment when you can hear the choir of angels singing, and the world is filled with rainbows and kitten. The moment when you fall in love, and become a silly, jabbering creature with a visible aura of happiness and a permanent face-splitting smile.

Actually, it wasn't like that at all.

I had slept over at the Burrow for the weekend, hanging out with the Weasleys and Harry, just like every summer. During that weekend-for a while, come to think of it-I had been getting all these weird little vibes from Ron, you know, the ones you get when a guy likes you and probably wants to try something? Needless to say, never having been the object of any boy's affection before, I was very excited and even responded with some weird little vibes of my own. Finally, on that last night, I knew that was it. It was the last time I was going to see them before school, and I was just positive he was going to try something.

And try something he did.

Right outside my father's car, while everyone else was standing not 50 feet away.

I admit, the location was incredibly unromantic, even for Ron, but what the hell. I was willing to let it go.

He gave me a hug goodbye, just like he always did, and then pulled back slowly to look into my face and make sure I wanted to kiss too. Well, of course I did. So I smiled very encouragingly and even leaned forward a wee bit just to reinforce my hint.

I was prepared for a small peck, maybe a _little_ bit of an open mouth or something.

I was _not _prepared for tonsil surgery, and that's what I got. (A/N: This situation really happened to me-you can't make this stuff up! This was my first kiss. Ew, right?)

Oh Holy Jesus.

I backed up as quickly as possible, smiled weakly, waved even more weakly, and jumped in the car, praying that my father had gone temporarily blind and hadn't witnessed that catastrophe.

The choir of angels didn't sing. They cried. With laughter.

And there you have it, my failed romantic life in a nutshell.

But other than that, I'm the same.

I look the same, I smell the same (same damn vanilla-smelling shampoo-my mother buys everything in bulk and she buys too much so it never runs out), and-let's face it-people are going to see me the same.

Hermione Granger, the bushy-haired bookworm. Nerd Queen of the Universe, the All-Knowing Superdork.

In other words, I am still..._boring_.

Only the thing is, I'm not boring. I like to do a lot of things, which includes going to parties and getting so shitfaced the only thing I can do properly the next day is drag myself to the loo and drape myself over a toilet bowl. Alright, I admit I've never exactly done that, but it always sounds like a hell of a good time.

I'm not going to sit here a bore you with a list of things I like to do because, truth be told, you probably like the same things.

Point is, I had always imagined this year to be different. Don't ask me how or why, it's just the way I thought of my seventh year. I always imagined that I would have a fabulous time, especially in my graduating year.

And now, here I was. September 1st, in King's Cross exactly thirty minutes before the train is supposed to leave, surrounded by witches and wizards and muggles, all jostling to get someplace and be somebody.

And I cannot describe just how much it sucked.


	2. Whoops

1**So I decided to continue writing, because even if you don't like the story, I do, and it makes me so excited. Also, I really really really don't want to do my AP Biology homework.**

**To my darling reviewers: Wow, you guys were really quick! Don't worry, I'm typing, I'm typing.**

**MalfoysAngel1985-Thank you very much!**

**SlySwn28-Wicked, dude.**

**Hannah901-I am incredibly sorry to inform you that that really was my first kiss. Was it as disgusting for you to read as it was for me to experience? Heh, thanks for the encouragement.**

**Popcornx5-Thanks a bundle!**

**Disclaimer: Same deal, ladies and gentlemen.**

**0000000000**

Have you ever sat someplace by yourself for a long period of time, in some location where everyone except for you has someone else to talk to?

If you have, you will know what I'm referring to when I start to talk about the weird stares. You know, the ones people give you as they wonder exactly what mental illness or social defect you might have that would leave you by yourself, devoid of human company.

I was getting a ton of those as I sat on top of my trunk, cursing my parents for being so goddamn early all the time, and also for not waiting with me, and also for the clothing crisis I am experiencing as a result of their stinginess.

fade in

Hermione enters her mom's room, carrying a pile of clothing. She dumps it on her mother's bed, and waits expectantly for her mother to bother to acknowledge her presence. She hopes to Christ she is at least more interesting to her _parents_ than the book her mother is holding. Finally, she clears her throat, and her mother looks up.

Clueless, Life-Ruining Mother: What's this, darling?

Justified, Righteous Hermione: I need new clothes.

CLRM: (peers over the top of her glasses at the pile) What's wrong with those dear?

JRH: Are you kidding me?! I can't go back to school with these clothes, they're so conservative and ugly. I need new ones.

CLRM: But we raised you to not care about superficial things like that, Herms. Come on, now, darling, you know better than that. It's not what you're wearing, it's what you're thinking. Okay? (smiles, goes back to book)

end scene

I could kill them.

So now, I have sprint to Hogsmeade and use my hard-earned money (yes, I have a job, I'll get to that) and shop for new clothing as quickly as possible, preferably before anyone sees me in anything other than my uniform or pajamas.

Oh right, my job. Well, seventh-year students are allowed to hold a small, very part-time position in Hogsmeade, and special arrangements are made to transport them there whenever they have to work, and so on and so forth. Naturally, I work in the bookstore. It's quite fun, actually. They let me take home books that haven't gone out on the shelves yet, and the pay is quite good considering how few hours I work. Also, the bookstore is one of the few places I can actually feel comfortable with myself, rather than spending the entire time worrying about how I look, or worrying that a certain someone is going to spot me doing something stupid. Hang on a minute, I need to check the time.

Fuck. It's 10:50. Where did the time go?

I begin to collect my things. I'm in no hurry, really, I'm right by the brick column that serves as the entryway to the train. I leisurely pack my things, with hardly a care in the world, except for disturbing thoughts about the hideous clothing lurking in my trunk and how I'm going to lug the damn thing onto the express by myself.

At that moment, two things happen.

First, Crookshanks decides that this is an "opportune moment" (A/N: Thanks, Captain Jack!). He leaps out of his basket (where, I will have you know) he was sitting peacefully all morning while I was busy reading without any fuss) and goes hurtling across the station. As I look up, all thoughts of preventing my cat from being turned into a pancake by a train are swept out of my mind.

He walks onto the platform.

Draco Malfoy, only the sexiest being to walk the earth, has just stepped onto the train platform, flanked by a few cronies.

I swear, if Kelis made "Milkshake" apply to men, it'd be his theme song.

I've had a crush on him since second year, I think it was (A/N: I can't remember if I mentioned what year it was. Oh well, Hermione doesn't remember either). I know-he's incredibly rude, he's a Slytherin, all my friends hate him with a fiery passion-but, he's smart, funny, loyal to his friends, and also really REALLY REALLY hot. I can't emphasize that enough.

And really REALLY REALLY popular, especially among the girls. I mean, come on, it's not exactly like he's one of those guys who's only hot to one girl, though sometimes, I wish that were true.

That way, maybe he'd pay more attention to me. Good attention, instead of just always calling me names and making fun of me.

But hell, at the moment, I'll take anything I can get. At least he knows I exist.

Therefore, unable to concentrate on anything, I begin trying to stumble over to the portal while dragging my big-ass trunk, looking for Crookshanks, and drooling over Draco.

In my fantasies, it doesn't happen like this.

"_My lady!" the handsome prince cried, rushing to her side. She smiled._

"_Thank you for coming to my aid, milord. The trunk is awfully weighty."_

_He smirked _(A/N: Classic Draco, no?) _and flung the trunk aside._

"_Oh Hermione, you are the most beautiful creature imaginable!" He murmured softly, gently pressing his lips to hers. Their tongues began a battle for dominance, and he slowly leaned her back so she was laying on her trunk..._

THUNK!

"Ow! Dammit, Herms! Watch it!"

Maybe not.


	3. Shit

1**All the awesome reviews have inspired me to keep going! Also the fact that my sister threatened my life if I didn't...but anyway, I would just like to ask that you don't do flamers please! If you don't like the story, that's fine, and you can tell me, but please don't just rip it apart without reason! And also I don't think I'll be able to write more until Sunday, I have a party to go to tonight and a concert tomorrow night and then work on Sunday, but don't worry, I'll work something out and you won't have to wait until Monday.**

**I hope.**

**To my lovely reviewers:**

**Slyswn28: Heh, thanks. It was too good to pass up.**

**BellaFelton: Hugs to you too! I love hugs!**

**DuffythePanther: Thanks! I will indeed, if you keep reading!**

**sugar n spice 522: Thanks tres mucho. The movie is Bridget Jones's Diary, just to let you know so you aren't in the dark. Actually, if you like the story, I think you'll like the movie, so maybe if you have nothing to do one day you ought to watch it.**

**Lexie the Dreamer: Thank you so much! That is so flattering...awww, I feel all popular now...and happy....and I am glad you can relate to Hermione.**

**Doragon41: Yes, sorry! The italics is a fantasy, it didn't really happen. Sorry for the confusion, I hope you like the rest of the story.**

**Popcornx5: Thanks a bunch! I appreciate your faithful reviewing...**

**Hyperpunk1123: You little fuck, where's your official reviews? (To everyone else, this is my sister, it's okay, I only talk to my family like this, ha ha ha.) **

**And now, without further babble...the.......**

**Disclaimer! You know the deal.**

**Okay, storytime. Go.**

**0000000000**

I tear my eyes away from the heavenly image before me to see what obscene thing I bumped into.

Harry is sitting on the ground before me, rubbing his shins, his overturned trunk next to him.

To make the situation even more ironic, Crookshanks is sitting on the top (or is it bottom, since it's upside down? ) of the trunk. Shit shit shit. Now, not only am I boring and despicable in the eyes of the Hottest Man in the Universe, I am also an incompetent fool, who bowls over her friends and can't locate her bright yellow cat.

Way to go, Hermione.Keep it up, girly.

Ron, of course, is right behind Harry. "Hi, Hermione," he says, refusing to make eye contact with me. Hmmm, maybe even this blockhead realized exactly how awkward that kiss was. He helps Harry up, simultaneously pushing Crookshanks off the trunk. "Um, Herms, don't you want your cat?"

It then occurs to me that I've been standing there, completely spacing out.

"Oh, yeah. Come here, you skank." I grab the cat and stuff him back into his basket, making certain that this time the lid is firmly shut."Sorry I knocked you over, Harry, I wasn't paying attention."

"Yeah, I noticed," Harry replied (and a bit rudely I thought.) He looked around the platform. "What were you looking at? Did they build a library in the station or something?" He and Ron snickered as though this was the funniest thing Harry had ever said. Then, to my further disgust, they high-fived.

The shit I put up with...if only I could kill them...

_His laughter was cut off by a powerful yet feminine hand gripping his neck in an iron vise. "_

"_Don't you dare make fun of me again, Harry. Just because I'm smarter than you are doesn't give you any right to poke fun. Don't fuck with me, you hear?!" shakes the boy-who-lived-but-not-for-long-at-this-rate like a ragdoll_

If only.

It is fun to think about, though.

"Alright, let's go," Harry says, straightening up from the standing fetal position he assumed to laugh at his own stupid joke. We all pick up our trunks and make our way to the barrier, heading through one at a time. I go last, so I can search the platform again for another glimpse of the Sex God.

By this time, however, he's gone, presumably to do better things (not to mention girls.) Damn. Oh well. I have all year to see him/be embarrassed in front of him/be made fun of by him, right?

Don't agree.

I head through the barrier and onto Platform 9 3/4, where I spot Harry and Ron busily loading their trunks onto the train. Harry waves me over. I can see his mouth moving, but over the noise of the train I can't hear a word he's saying. But I do notice that Ron is standing off to the side and turning a shade of red that could rival the scarlet of the Hogwart's Express. I shake my head, indicating that I can't hear a word Harry's saying. He shakes his head back and waves at me to get on the train.

Great. Now the boy-who-lived-to-boss-around-his-friends-and-everyone-else-because-fame-has-given-him-a-big-head is telling me what to do.

Even worse, I'm listening.

Clutching Crookshanks' basket, I clamber aboard the train and find an empty compartment right near the door. I hear footsteps following me into the compartment, and, without bothering to turn around as I make my stupid cat comfortable, I say, "What did you say, Harry?"

"It's not Harry," says Ron. Whoops. My bad. Sorry, Ron.

"Oh. Hey, Ron."

"Hey. Um, Hermione...I wanted to...um..." He trails off, looking very fidgety and nervous. He's edging closer and closer.

"What's up, Ron?" Oh no, he wouldn't. He wouldn't dare.

He did.

Without warning, all I can see are a hell of a lot of freckles and a shock of red hair as Ronald Weasley, Grand Master of Tonsil Surgery, specializing in unsuspecting girls, goes at it again.

I won't even get into it. Suffice to say, it was probably more disgusting than the first time, because this time, although I was caught off guard, I knew what to expect.

"Aw, how sweet. The Weasel and the Beaver are in _love_!"

Shit. Someone's out there. The voice frees me from my shock paralysis and I push Ron off of me, then look over his shoulder (no easy task for a short girl like me) to see who it is.

Double shit.

Draco Malfoy is staring straight back at me, grinning maliciously.

**Well? Please R and R!**

**Carrie**


	4. Double Shit

1**Well, I'm back, and so is chapter 4! I'd rather not write this paper on existentialism, so I think I'll just update instead! What a good idea, if I don't say so myself. Heh heh heh. Okay, shut up, Carrie, and thank your reviewers.**

**sugar n spice 522: Should watch it again, it's a good movie. You watch it, I'll write more. Deal?**

**Potterholic13: Thanks, thanks. I will, I will. You wouldn't happen to be named Allison, now, would you?**

**Lexie the Dreamer: So bossy! Ha ha, it's totally okay. I'm writing as fast as I can. **

**Draco's Siriusly Lupin: Hey, I love the name. And I'm glad you like my sarcastic wit. **

**Draco'sGirl3432: Thank yah, bows.**

**Screwed by Life: Well, who isn't? Okay, bad joke. No no, Carrie. I wanted to do something different. A little, at least.**

**Slyswn28: Ah, my faithful reviewer. Dragon shall keep going, I love the nickname! I am no longer Carrie, I am Dragon, woot.**

**Beeker986: Why, thank you. You're right, I'll keep going. **

**MalFoYzGuRlIe: I love you too! I like the cliff analogy, I do, really. And yeah, I've been in Hermione's shoes more than once, and I know how hard it is to be so obssessed or whatever, so I thought I should get some of it out, cause a lot of people feel like that. And yeah, it's...it's fun. Okay, in short, thank you.**

**Oh, and a small shoutout to that little bitch I'm forced to call sister. Thanks for spreading the word, fuckface. Ha, hugs for you. And maybe a cookie. How about a brownie? Maybe a muffin? Okay, enough. **

**Disclaimer: I solemnly swear, I think I spelled that wrong. How do you spell "solemn"? That all the characters and following details belong to JK herself, and not lil old me.**

**0000000000**

"What's the matter, Weasel? Is your family so poor you actually have to resort to prostitution for money?" Ron turns so red he looks like a fried tomato. I imagine my own face can't be much better. Damn. My first time seeing Malfoy this year, and I'm a blotchy mess.

"How was your first kiss, mudblood?" Malfoy's sarcastic voice drags me out of my fantasies that involve a crashing train and an escape from embarrassment. I mean, at least in death you aren't blotchy, right?

I look up at him, and it's like the sky opened and the heavens became visible.

No, no Hermione. He is an evil git. He is an evil...sexy...NO...git...hey, do you think if I jumped at him really fast I might be able to rip his shirt off before he could stop me?...oh God, wrong...no no no...think gits, thinking gits....

"Sod off, Malfoy," Ron says while I'm busy thinking gits, curling his hands into fists.

"Don't worry, Weasel, no one could stand the stench of poverty for too long, least of all me," Malfoy replies.

Thank God. He's leaving. At least now I can be completely humiliated in privacy, more or less. Who knows, maybe Ron'll leave with him.

"...right after Granger here answers my question." (A/N: The one about how her "first kiss" was, just so no one gets confused, because that nearly confused me, and I'm writing it.)

Double shit.

"Well, Granger?" Malfoy continues, turning towards me expectantly.

It's at moments like this that I want to smack him and leave him with flesh wounds.

To make matters worse, Ron turns towards me, too. I must now weigh my options.

If I say it was good, Malfoy will think even less of me (if that's possible, I'm not sure at this point) and Ron will think it's okay to try again. Of course, I could always wait until Malfoy leaves and then crush Ron in private. But on the other hand, if I tell the truth and say that I would rather walk to Hogwarts than go through that ever again, I kill two birds with one stone. Malfoy won't think any less of me (no, his opinion will stay at the same subterranean level) and Ron will know the truth. But, he will be mad at me.

I think I can live with that.

But...he is my friend...fuck ass, this sucks a lot.

"I don't think Ronniekins here can stand to wait much longer. He wants to know how his kissing went after he practiced so long on his pillow," Malfoy drawls. By this time, Ron is so annoyed he's no longer articulate. He can only stand and gape like a fish on land.

"Um...I dunno...I have nothing else to compare it to," I mumble. Bravo, an effort at compromise between my two options. We have found middle ground! All stand back while we dig ourselves deeper into a hole!

Malfoy laughs himself a hernia. "Ha-that's-ha ha ha-wow, Granger-ha, jeez..." Still laughing hysterically, he walks out of the compartment.

Excellent. Am now laughingstock of the whole school. I only said something incredibly stupid to someone very popular and hostile towards me and, naturally, by the end of the ride, everyone will know.

Ron just looks at me and walks out, straight into Harry.

"What happened?" Harry asks, possible picking up on the waves of anger which are probably visible.

"Nothing," I say quietly. At this, Ron turns back towards me in fury.

"How could you say 'nothing,' Hermione! Not only did you crush my heart, you also insulted me in front of the one person who would like nothing better than to see me get hurt by one of my closest friends!"

Good thing I didn't pick option two.

Ron storms out, leaving Harry to gaze upon me in disappointment.

"Jeez, Herms..."

"Don't start, Harry. You've never been kissed by Ron before, and you don't know my side of the story," I snap. I hate being totally blamed for things that aren't totally my fault.

Harry opens his mouth to say something else, but just then Hannah Abbot appears at the compartment door.

"Come on, Hermione. You're wanted at the front of the train."

What now? What else could possibly happen to me today?

Instead of voicing aloud my concern for my future and my sanity, I follow her out the door.

**Well? Sorry nothing really happened in this chapter, but I'm exhausted and procrastinating, and I want to watch Wicker Park. So press the little button, go on, you know you want to.**

**Thanks! Carrie**


	5. Are you kidding me?

1**Don't look now it's....chapter 5! Did you ever have a week where it starts off great and just gets shittier and shittier until finally you're like wow I wish I hadn't gotten up today? It's been one of those weeks. **

**But whatever. **

**A few things:**

**First, I now accept anonymous reviews! Just letting all you nameless readers out there know, just in case or whatever.**

**Second, a few people expressed dislike of my whole interrupting the story for author's notes. I try not to do it that much (hey, it pisses me off too) but if I feel I need to clarify something, I'm going to, even if it means putting an author's note in the story. I will try to keep those to a minimum though.**

**Third, a reader reminded me that I failed to acknowledge Hermione's romance with Viktor Krum. Total accident, I completely forgot about it! So my deepest apologies, please humbly accept them, along with a cookie.**

**And now, to thank you guys:**

**yellowrosesinateacup- Sorry I left the cliffhanger! But you have to admit it does make you want to come back and read my story. And of course eat the cookies.**

**xoxobriTtAnyxoxo13- Yeah, me want romance too. Never fear, I shall eventually reward your waiting with a few good snog sessions and hopefully some sex. Can I tempt you with a cookie?**

**suz- Yeah, I loved the Kelis thing too. It's so true, right? Glad you like the story! Have a cookie.**

**hyperpunk1123- Alright, alright, I'm going, I'm going. Take a cookie, it'll shut you up.**

**Draco's Siriusly Lupin- Thank God I found another person who thinks my sarcastic wit is just as hilarious as I do. Cookie for you, keep reading please.**

**Slyswn28- Dragon's winning! Ha ha haaaaaaaaaaaa-cookies!**

**Lexie the Dreamer- I am really glad you relate to Hermione! And yes, the undressing fantasy? So true. We all have those moments. I shall keep writing, you keep relating, deal? Seal it with a cookie?**

**Remy- Lindz told me how you laughed out loud. Keep reading, laugh whore. I know it's you, Kate. Cookieeeeees**

**Hannah- Thank you sooooo much! I wanted to get across that Hermione wasn't just a bookworm. I myself was once labeled as such and it really closed a lot of opportunities for friendships. Cookie?**

**Ingvild- Thank you for your suggestions and for you pointing out that I forgot Viktor! I can't believe I did that. Can we be friends and eat cookies? And of course you can still review, I don't mind suggestions, as long as you don't mind if I don't take them. Thanks for not flaming. **

**Sydney Carton- Sorry you don't like the story. Take a cookie on your way out.**

**That should be all. Now sit back and enjoy the disclaimer.**

**Disclaimer: turns out pockets Empty...no ownership, except of the plot.**

**0000000000**

We walk through the train to the front compartment (actually, to be more accurate, she walks, I shuffle and try to be inconspicuous just in case Malfoy's already gotten around to everyone). Hannah jabbers about her summer (a large portion of which seems to involve sex in the pool with her Muggle boyfriend...what the hell? How do you do that with goggles? You know what, just turn it off, Hermione, la la la la la, I can't hear you, I am not single and bitter, I am listening to your story with deep interest in your personal well being...hey, I wonder if Malfoy's ever done that? Hmm, maybe he'd care to try it sometime...)

Thus, I encounter Professor McGonagall for the first time in my seventh year with my mind deeply entrenched in the gutter. I'm surprised there hasn't been a rescue squad sent to get it. They're probably not experienced enough to go that deep, though. Probably why.

This year is off to a smashing start, no?

"Ah, Miss Granger, so glad you could join us. Now, is everyone here?" Professor McGonagall ushers me into the front compartment, which is jam-packed full of prefects. What is this? Oh yeah, she's probably announcing Head Boy and Head Girl. Oh, okay...

"As you all know, the positions of Head Boy and Head Girl were vacant. Well, no longer. Professor Dumbledore and I have chosen the new Heads, as of yesterday. We are very pleased to announce that Hermione Granger is the new Head Girl and Draco Malfoy is the new Head Boy!"

I imagine that even if we had been able to move our hands, there wouldn't have been any clapping. Everyone expected me to get the post, and mostly everyone in the room hates Draco Malfoy, so that kind of cancels out any celebration.

Still, though, sometimes I wish people didn't expect things like this from me. I would have loved to be surprised, even elated by receiving this honor. And yet, somehow, I know I expect it from myself, too. Also kind of depressing to think about is the fact that if I hadn't gotten the position, everyone would be gossiping and speculating about it, right along with their first kiss stories for at least a few weeks.

These are the thoughts occupying my mind as we pull up to Hogwarts and take the horseless carriages to the castle. That, and exactly what I'm going to say to Ron and Harry when I see them again.

Fuck. This sucks.

Finally, the carriages stop at the entrance to Hogwarts, and everyone is allowed to dismount from the rickety carriages (Neville Longbottom looks a bit green, that boy's stomach is weaker than a twig) and go up to dinner (or, in Neville's case, totter). Just as I reach the doorway, a hand reaches out and pulls me off to the side. I nearly jump out of my skin, and look over so I can say something scathing.

To my absolute shock, it's Draco Malfoy.

What could he want?

Not imagining anything....oh, alright, really quickly...

_He pulled her into his strong arms, cool eyes like pools of silver water staring down into her beautiful face._

_She opened her mouth to speak, but he closed her lips with his own._

_Their kiss was passionate, the kind of kiss one only hears about in movies or ultimate-romance stories._

_In that moment, she knew how much he loved her._

"Smoke much, Granger?" A drawling voice pulls me out of my thoughts. (Oh, shut up. They were thoughts.)

"Wh-what?" I stutter. Shit. Even his presence has an effect on my powers of speech. I am reduced to stuttering, four-word sentences, or the all-famous, all-sexy Neanderthal grunt.

"You were staring off into space with a vacant expression reserved only for druggies and the insane," Malfoy snorts with derision. He laughs at his own joke.

I'm sorry, but the rest of us seem to have missed how that was funny. You're really sexy, but right now I want to smack you. Maybe even spank you. Oh, whoops, did I just think that?

I cross my arms and attempt to pretend I don't like him.

This is harder than Snape's potions class. And that's impossible.

"What do you want?" Yep, four words.

"I'm supposed to tell you that the Head Boy and Girl have their own private apartments, so don't go gallivanting up to the Gryffindor dorms and start looking for your stuff."

I wait for his declaration of eternal love.

Okay, not really. But I sure as hell hope for it.

"Mkay," I reply. Neanderthal grunt? Check.

Then it hits me. Wait just one cotton-pickin minute. I have to _live_ with Draco Malfoy? Are you fucking kidding me?! Not only do I now have to share quarters with the hottest man alive, I also have to do all my normal things in front of him? Do you know what this means? It means he's going to see me when I wake up and I'm a train wreck and I'm padding around in my oversize sweatshirt and short-shorts. He's going to see me when I binge and watch TV, and when I'm happy and sad, or angry. He's going to know when I have my period for fuck's sake! Could this be any MORE humiliating?! He's never going to like me now. I mean, yes, I know I had to see him every day before, but that was in class, not one-on-one contact. This is totally different.

I'm still standing there in shock when he walks away, sniggering, possibly at my lack of movement or intelligent response.

This day just went from bad to worse. And I still have a whole year to go through.

Smashing.

**Sorry for the holdup! I had major writer's block and I didn't want to give you guys a crappy chapter. Oh, and I also went to this crazy party. But that was only one night. I mean, we probably could have stretched it to two, but whatever. Anyways, press the pretty button, go on. Do it, baby. Yeah, White Zombie.**

**Carrie**


	6. Ginny's Advice

1**Since I have a huge midterm to do (such a good feeling) I decided to get a head start on chapter 6. Reviews have been slow coming in, I am very sad. Review please! The only way I know how you like the story and whether or not I should make changes is through your lovely button-pressing and ensuing typing. So go for it! **

**Heh. My motivational speech is now complete.**

**To my lovely review board:**

**Lexie the Dreamer: Yay! You liked my story! Hmm examines tin I ran out of cookies, do you like brownies? I'm really glad you think it's getting better, I sure as hell hope I can keep that up. Brownie for you.**

**Draco's Siriusly Lupin: It's so awesome I make you laugh. I based a lot of my story on the awkwardness that happens in real life; it happens to me too. Brownie?**

**sugar n spice 522: Well, I'm glad you thought it was interesting. I hope this chapter is just as interesting. Do you like brownies?**

**Slyswn28: Awesome, you got my White Zombie reference. They are so awesome, no? Yeah, Dragon's still winning. How about a brownie?**

**Twistedmaniac: Happy to have cheered you up! Thank you so much, and I am writing more just as soon as I finish thanking reviewers and slapping on a disclaimer. While you wait, eat a brownie.**

**Remy: I'm glad you still like the story! Yeah, she kind of narrates the story through her thoughts, I like that. I shall keep writing, you keep laughing. KATE. Eat a brownie, laugh whore.**

**Aeriel Ravenna: Ha, I love off-topic stories! And I would never think you were a pedophile, no worries. And yeah, if I were told I was about to room with a guy, that's the first thing I'd think, you know, it's not all good, you still have to do normal girl stuff. But thanks for your reviews, please take a brownie and keep reading and reviewing!**

**innocentrose: Thank you. I haven't determined exactly when she'll change, but I want it to be good, so I'm not going to rush it. I hope you have the patience to wait. Don't worry, though-I didn't forget. Brownie? Friends?**

**sno-angel: Thanks very much! I shall indeed keep writing; I love making people laugh. Want a brownie?**

**blonde-with-her-moments: I will, dang it. Thanks for reviewing, I hope you like brownies.**

**Disclaimer: Ah yeah. Still nothin. Just the plot.**

**0000000000**

I trail behind everyone into the Great Hall, still puzzling over where I might have gone wrong in life to deserve this. Dreaming about living with the Sex God in our enormous mansion with a million (paid) house elves is one thing. Actually living with the Sex God is entirely different.

The Great Hall is, as usual, decorated so beautifully that Martha Stewart herself would have gotten down on her knees and begged for interior design lessons at once.

I wander over to the Gryffindor table and sit in a hottie-induced stupor while the Sorting takes place. Normally, I'm pretty keen on knowing where the first years are being placed, but this time, I couldn't care less. I just had a close encounter with the hot kind. I should try to get used to this. Since it's going to be happening for the rest of the year, I ought to learn to handle it better. Can't look like a slack-jawed, moon-eyed idiot every time he walks within 50 feet of me.

But I'll work on that later.

Right now I need to worry about getting through dinner without a nuclear meltdown. Must..tear...eyes...away...from...Draco...

Ron and Harry do that for me, in a sense, by interrupting my fantasies with stupid complaints and questions.

"What's up with you, Herms?" Ron asks bluntly, plopping down beside me, Harry in tow. "Come on, I thought you liked me."

Is he seriously going to have this conversation here? Now? Wrong time, wrong place, if you ask me.

"Can we talk about this later, Ron?" I ask in as neutral a tone as I can muster. You ape-faced, bucket-snatching piece of cancer, can't you see we're surrounded by tons of people who would like nothing better than to hear my dirty laundry being aired to dry?

He rolls his eyes and stomps away. Oh, how mature.

Harry gives me a funny look and murmurs, "Are you sure you're alright, Hermione?" in a low tone.

I smile fleetingly. "Yeah, we'll talk later, like I said, okay?" He nods and goes off to find Ron, wherever he's sulking. I'm about to make a friendly effort by raising myself up in my seat to see if I can find him from a half-sitting position, but am momentarily distracted by Draco at the Slytherin table.

"Well, I am, after all, the Sex God of the Universe," he's saying loudly to someone.

All hail, Sex God of the Universe. I live to service you.

Dumbledore of course chooses this moment to begin his speech. Right when I was in the middle of several thoughts involving screams, sweat, and hot sex. Bollocks.

"As you all know," he rumbles, "a new school year has begun." _Off to a great start, I'd say._ "First, I would like to congratulate our new Heads..."_Head? Hmmm...._ "Mr. Draco Malfoy and Miss Hermione..." _Malfoy. But you can call me anything you want..._ "Granger. Now I'd just like to say a few words..." _Me too, and they're all going to be Oh, Draco!_ "To our first years, and everyone else, the Forbidden Forest is, as the name implies, forbidden..." _I know one forest that isn't forbidden..._ "so, obviously, don't go in there" _no, come in here..._ "and other than that, tuck in! And have a good year!"

Calling all forces, mind has been lost in the gutter, I repeat, we have a mind in the gutter, one woman down....

Okay. Time to call emergency meeting of comrades-in-arms. Namely, Ginny Weasley. That girl has been my best friend for I-don't-know-how-long. I tell her everything, and vice versa. It's a no secrets relationship. Kind of scary.

She's sitting two people down from me. I have to talk to her. They need to move. I pop up and shove Dean and Seamus out of the way. Nothing gets in the way of a girl with a crush, not even flesh, blood, and testosterone.

"Ginny," I whisper urgently. She turns immediately, pretty freckled face pulled down into an expression of concern.

"Hey, Mione. What's up?"

I open my mouth to tell her, just as I notice a very familiar shock of red hair leaning closer and closer to where we're seated. Ron's trying to listen in again. Bugger.

"Let's go, I have to talk to you in private," I say, pulling her off the bench, still clutching a spoon filled with mashed potatoes. She doesn't protest, just follows me with wondering eyes. We leave the Great Hall as quickly and as inconspicuously as I can manage and run to that great haven invented by someone incredibly intelligent and wonderful: the Girls' Bathroom.

"Okay," I say once we're safely ensconced in the standard puke-green tile room, "I think I have feelings for Draco Malfoy."

I wait for her jaw to hit the floor and eyes to bug out.

She just smiles.

My jaw hits the floor and my eyes bug out.

"You aren't...like...shocked out of your mind?" I say once I've picked up my teeth.

"No," she shakes her red head. "He's really hot. I'd be shocked if you didn't have feelings for him. And now I hear you get to live with him? That's totally awesome, you'll be able to show him what an awesome person you are!"

Before this scene continues to play out, I should mention that Ginny has more confidence than anyone I've ever met. If it were her living with Draco, I'd agree, everything would be fine. I mean, I am a confident person, I'm not saying I'm not, but I'm much more of a smart, confident-in-my-intellectual-abilities type. My confidence in the boy department is sadly lacking. Especially when they're so incredibly hot and aware of it they can't pass a mirror without an orgasm. So where does that leave the rest of us?

Anyway. Play on.

"No, it's NOT awesome," I say emphatically. "It's going to suck balls, because he's just going to see that I'm even more of a bookworm than he thought and he's going to have less respect for me than ever, and he's going to see me when I look like shit, and when I'm eating too much, and he's going to know when I have my period!"

"That was random," she says, shaking her head slightly. "He already knows girls get their periods, I don't think it's going to come as a shock."

I shake my head. I'm getting more hysterical by the minute. How come she doesn't get it?

Oh, wait, hang on, shut up brain, she's giving advice!

"And if you think he's going to see you're a huge bookworm, you're probably right. If you're fine with that image, than who gives a fuck? But if you aren't, well, no one's _making_ you be a bookworm, you know. You could change. Can we continue this conversation later, cause I'm kind of hungry, and dinner's almost over."

I nod and follow her out of the bathroom silently.

Change? That is absurd. But maybe...

**Oooh, cliffie! Sorry I took so long, midterms, blah blah blah...Well please review! It's always appreciated! **

**Carrie**


	7. Here We Are

1**Please forgive me for taking forever to update! I have been quite busy as of late. But never fear, now I'm back into my thing where I blow off my homework for my readers, and all that good stuff. Not to mention my sister has been sending me bitchy little reminders, ha ha ha. Okay, first, my thanks to everyone. Oh, and as a little side note, brownies are just like cookies. I like to offer a variety of food. Cause I love you guys.**

**malfoysblondie: Thanks! Yeah, my mind spends many days in the gutter, why shouldn't hers? I'm glad to make you laugh, hope this chappie cracks you up just as much. Cupcake?**

**sugar n spice 522: Glad you think so, hope I answered your question. Offering cupcakes this time. The kind with the multicolored cake.**

**slyswn28: Yes, yes it is. Never fear, it's coming. Slowly but surely. Cupcake?**

**Stephanie: I'm glad you like it! And will do, right after this and a lovely disclaimer.**

**Fudge72AH: It is so awesome to be called brilliant. Just so awesome. Take a cupcake. Take two.**

**dallylova: Thanks so much! It is so awesome you got an account just for that! I am so flattered! And I did real good on my exams, thanks tres much. And no, you definitely don't come across as a crazy freak fan, I love you too. Cupcake!**

**BlackRose111: I am, dammit! Ha ha ha, please have a cupcake.**

**blonde-with-her-moments: Well, I wanted her to be like everyone else. Even though she's brilliant, she's still a girl with a tremendous crush on someone who hardly knows she exists. I hope you like cupcakes.**

**Remy: Oh, so it's chuckling now? Forget it, you're still the laugh whore. Eat a cupcake. Actually, on second thought, don't. You might choke when you laugh.**

**PeroStarz: Sorry, sorry. Not meant to be mean. I have to keep you reading somehow, right? Have a cupcake.**

**secretspells311: Yeah, they always come out shorter than I think they will be. Hm. Well I definitely appreciate you, keep reviewing! And would you like a cupcake?**

**SupernovaPhoebe: Thanks so much. Peace up, A town, dude. Cupcake?**

**Remix2002: Thanks. I'm trying to parallel it a bit to my life, you know. Not everything works out right away. I hope you like cupcakes.**

**nnn: Thank you, and most definitely, will do! Have a cupcake while you wait.**

**Katie1991: I plan to make you guys drool as long as possible, trust me. Heh. Cupcake?**

**Sunstar6: Thanks so much, glad you like the style. I'm going, promise. Cupcake...**

**black sorceress: Sorry. I think I know what topic you mean, not sure though. I'll do my best. Glad you're enjoying it and how about a cupcake?**

**Snape-ette: Sorry, sorry! I left another cliffie, just for you. Ha ha ha, please partake in the cupcakes.**

**Lexie the Dreamer: Ha, dirty like mine too. Please keep reading, I'm so glad you enjoy it! Cupcake?**

**Draco's Siriusly Lupin: Oh man! Ha ha ha! Well I love stories, so I definitely don't mind you telling them! Hope this chappie makes you crack up too! Cupcaaaake, you know you want it.**

**hpjsr: Thank you soooo much! Maybe one day I will write my own stuff. I have dabbled in poetry, but nothing comical like this. I was unaware I had a talent for being funny with my writing. Well I guess now I know. Cupcake?**

**Disclaimer: Yep, no.**

**000000000000**

I follow Ginny back out to the Great Hall and plop back down at my place. Of course, by this time, the garbage collectors (oh, I mean boys) have eaten just about everything. If they were hungry enough, I don't think they'd hesitate to chow down on the table and benches.

I begin to take some food, just to amuse myself until dinner is over. My stomach is twisted into more knots than a Boy Scout practice rope. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to fit much food in there. The knot and the butterflies take up most of the space.

Instead, I'm busy wondering: exactly what will it be like to live with Draco Malfoy? Will he have his girlfriend (I'll tell you about her when I see her) over all the time? Will I have to sit around while they snog on the couch? Will he talk to me more? Will he play stupid, mean practical jokes on me just to get a laugh? Will he have parties? And...will...no, no, come on Hermione, we've discussed this before in great detail, come on, back away from the romantic fantasies, I repeat, back away from the romantic fantasies...aw shit, I can't help it...

_He turned to look at her, cool silver eyes reflecting the moonlight pouring in through the open window. _

"_My lady. I've been waiting for you."_

_Curiosity aroused, she walked forward, red dress whispering across the marble floor. Her brown hair spilled around her shoulders, and her honey-brown eyes were filled with the inquisitive look that made her so beautiful to him. "Have you?" she asked in a low, sensual voice._

_He turned fully so he was framed by the moonlight, extending a strong hand towards her. "Come to me, my beauty." She acquiesed to his request and allowed him to pull her forward. He pulled her close, holding her supple body against his powerful chest._

"_It seems like only a second ago that I first saw you, standing so confidently on the train, drinking in the world around you with those eyes. I knew I loved you from the moment I saw you, I knew you would be perfect for me, and I only dared to wish that you would realize the same thing and come to love me just as much as I love you...I would walk across the universe if only to see your for a moment...all I need to know is, do you love me?"_

_Smiling mischievously, she pulled him forward to give him her answer..._

"OY! 'Ermione! Would you mind passing the bloody potatoes, for the millionth time!"

I jumped about ten feet in the air. As usual, it was Ron, his mouth jam-packed, bits of food flying everywhere, yelling at the top of his lungs for more. Oh holy Jesus.Why does he always interrupt my best fantasies? Does he have incredibly-erotic-Hermione-fantasy-dar?

I shove the potatoes in his direction, then try to find something else to concentrate on while I wait for dinner to end. It is at these times, when I have nothing to do, that I start listening in on other people's conversations. Do you ever do that? Like, not eavesdropping, just...sharing the wealth, so to speak.

Parvati and Lavender are sitting across from me, discussing a shopping trip.

"I dropped so much Muggle money," Parvati giggles. "They were having a sale, how could I pass up?"

"Well, yeah," Lavender agrees. "Victoria's Secret bras are like so expensive normally. I just get my mom to buy them for me."

They titter, like those women who play bridge and knit scarves and tell completely unfunny stories.

And who goes bra shopping with their _mother_? I remember my one (and only) underwear shopping trip with my mother after the age of 13. She convinced me (somehow) to spend a shopping day with her. I agreed, because that means she spends the money, instead of me! Anywho, we went into Victoria's Secret (for some reason) and there I met my fate. I only remember it in little bright flashes, much like a trauma victim. She was yelling across the store, "What size are you again honey? 34A?" and waving this little red nothing bra at me. Actually, it didn't look like a bra. It looked like a twizzler with a few skimpy pieces of cloth. Almost like the seamstress got tired and stopped.

Time to look for a new conversation. This one is bringing back early traumatic memories, and I might go into a memory coma and die. Well no, I made that up. But still.

Thankfully, I don't have to use my energy conversation-shopping. Dumbledore pops right out of his chair (crazy for an old guy, he ought to have rheumatoid arthritis by now) and does his little bit, you know, with the rules and all. This time, I don't even pay attention, like I normally do. Instead, I give spacing a go. It's kind of fun, everything just sort of...fades...out...whoo...gone...

"-foy and Hermione Granger for just a minute. Thank you."

What? Wait, do that over, I wasn't listening! Oh well, I can figure out the "foy" is the end of Malfoy and I'll just follow Draco. I watch as the Sex God gracefully rises from his table, like a king rising from a feast with his subjects. He glides like a prince, up towards the head table.

It takes me a few minutes to remember I'm supposed to be following him. Shit. I jump up, totally trip over my own feet, nearly eat it, catch myself, ignore the snickers, and race up to Dumbledore.

"Ah. Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy." He inclines his head towards each of us. "I wanted to escort both of you to your new quarters. You may already know that you will not be residing with your own houses this year. Rather, you will be living together, in hopes that you will work together fluidly, much like a well-oiled Muggle machine, as the saying goes. Now, if you please, follow me." He leads us out of the Great Hall through a little side entryway that the teachers use to get to the table, rather than being forced to wade through the students. We follow him through a few narrow corridors, to a set of stairs removed from the main staircases frequented by students. They spiral upward, presumably to our new quarters. At this point, Dumbledore turns and smiles. "And this is where I leave you. You may choose your own password. Good night." He glides slowly away.

Malfoy looks at me and grins, a bit evilly. "Well Granger, here we are."

And with that, he walks upstairs, leaving me to ponder what this year will bring.

**Ha ha ha! Another cliffie! smiles evilly I have pretty much planned out what will happen-never fear, she will change soon. I just have to get a few thing straightened out first with this. So pease press the pwetty button, pease?**

**Carrie : 0 )**


	8. Company

1**Thank you so much for all the nice reviews! I am quite flattered, as always. You guys are too nice. And just because you're so nice, I'm going to try and make this chappie a bit longer, sorry they've been so short.**

**But first, as always, individual thanks are needed:**

**Katsumi-Sanata: Well I'm glad it's caught your eye! Don't worry, I'll finish it, you hang in there. Would you like ice cream cake?**

**dallylova:** **I know, I know. It was so short. I'll try to do better this time. Glad you're still enjoying it, please have some ice cream cake.**

**nitwittie:** **It definitely will be lovely, never fear. I've pretty much planned out what's going to happen and stuff. So sit back and enjoy! Ice cream cake?**

**Remy: Is this soon enough for you, laugh whore? Don't choke on the ice cream cake.**

**tarzoniagirl: It's Bridget Jones's Diary. Thank you so much, and can I tempt you with ice cream cake?**

**remxsos: I'm trying to make them as nice as possible** **never fear. Yes she does zone out a lot but a lot of girls do, you know? I hope it enhances the story. Ice cream cake?**

**Candy04: Why thank you so much. Ice cream cake?**

**ronlover05: I'm glad you like it so much! Yeah, I think the same way too, ha ha ha. I hope you like ice cream cake.**

**hyperpunk1123: How could you not like cupcakes? I looooove cupcakes! Well I was really busy which is why I took so long, but hopefully that won't happen again. Right? Take some ice cream cake and don't be mad at me. Pease. : 0 )**

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**Fudge72AH: So glad you like it! Hee hee, I'll have to think of more cute ways to ask for reviews so you keep going! You're very welcome, and this time it's ice cream cake.**

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**Lexie the Dreamer: I'm really glad you liked the fantasy, I was a little worried since it was so serious compared to the story but I think it worked out in the end. I hope this is soon enough, please partake in the ice cream cake!**

**Slyswn28: Heh, thanks! I'm glad you liked the daydream too. We must put a few pretty ones in there, right? Have some ice cream cake.**

**hpjsr: I'm so amazed you find me amusing. My friends take one look at me and tell me to shut up, work on the funny-ness. Ha ha ha, I would most definitely like a treat, I'd like you to read and review more! Ice cream cake?**

**sno-angel: I think I remember you. Anywho, glad you like the story so far! I'm really pleased that it makes you laugh. And absolutely, there will be more interaction. I'm just getting started. I hope you like ice cream cake.**

**radar: Why, thank you. My story's never been referred to as "juicy" before, I quite like it. Ice cream cake for you?**

**BlackRose111: Okay, okay! Dammit, have some ice cream cake!**

**Disclaimer: Uh...still no.**

**And now, on with the story!**

**0000000000**

I reluctantly follow Malfoy up the stairs. While I'd like nothing better then for him to slam me up against a wall and ravage my body, I must still be cautious. I must be like an antelope amongst the lions in the Serengeti, like they have on those wildlife shows.

Yes, someone spent too much time indoors with the ice cream carton this summer.

A pair of carved mahogany doors greet me at the top of the stairs, right along with Mr. Sexy himself. The carving depicts a wood nymph on either side. The one of the left is sitting by a pond, trailing her toes in the water and humming some unknown tune to herself. The other is lounging by a tree, fiddling with her dress. Neither of them is paying any attention to the two people standing there, staring at them.

Malfoy is the first to open his mouth.

"Their boobs are enormous," he says, leaning a bit closer, presumably to get a better look.

WHAT! We're standing in front of our new home, emphasis on _our_, and all he can comment on is the size of the assets of our door carvings! You have got to be kidding me. This year is going to be a trip.

"Um.." I clear my throat hesistantly, hoping he'll come back to reality and help me choose a password. "Don't we...um...need to pick a password?"

"Eh," he grunts.

Just as I'm taking that to mean he doesn't care, and trying to decide between "kittens" and "rainbows" (okay, not really, but something nice, you know what I mean?)he pops out with, "Ladies? Our password is 'If I say this, lick me till I scream.'"

I need this like I need a hole in the head.

Both nymphs look up and smile at him, then nod their pretty heads (Crikey, couldn't we have gotten an ugly portrait, like one of some arthritic old man with a few warts on his nose?).

"Of course, sir," the one on the left says in a musical voice (God, their voices are hot too? What the hell?). "I'm Desdemona, and this is my sister Esmerelda." Each of them rises and curtseys to Draco.

Even wooden carvings have crushes on him.

They straighten up, and Desdemona turns to Esmerelda. "I saw him first," she says, pointing a finger at Draco. If they don't pay more attention, they're not going to know I even live here too.

"No, you didn't!"

"Did too!"

"Did not!"

"If I say this, lick me till I scream," Draco says loudly, and the doors swing open. The fighting, naturally, continues.

But I've totally forgotten about it.

The chambers are...breathtaking. The common room is decorated with a cream and navy blue theme, I assume in order to be neutral towards our houses. A huge stone fireplace is at the head of the room, with a neat little set of Muggle pokers off to the side (for show, of course). A navy blue and white striped sofa is in front of the fireplace. Off to the side, in a corner of the room, is a wide screen tv with a dvd player and a vcr with an assortment of dvds.

A pair of swinging American cowboy movie-style doors (you know, like the saloon ones) leads into a little kitchen, complete with a Muggle stove, oven, and microwave. There's even a refrigerator, which hopefully comes pre-stocked. Now all I need is the liquor cabinet, for depression drinking while Draco's out with other women.

Most eye-catching of all, in my humbly unpracticed-but-I-did-read-a-book-about-it opinion, would be the enormous picture window, set higher in the wall and complemented by a pair of navy drapes. It rests about knee-level above a staircase that one can reach from two opposite ends. In between these staircases is a creme-carpeted balcony, which the window sits in the middle of. Not too far from the staircases are two doors, one with a sign that reads "Head Girl" and the other with a sign that reads (duh) "Head Boy."

Instead of whipping me into his arms and kissing me passionately like he should, Draco completely ignores me. I doubt I even make a blip on his radar. He looks around the room, grunts appreciatively (I have a lot of experience in interpreting male grunts, having dealt with Ron and Harry, kings of the male grunt-they totally abuse it)and then heads up to the Head Boy room without so much as a "Well now I guess you and me'll be living here for the rest of the year Granger."

Well, I guess since he's gone, I should get on that too, and see what my room looks like.

I walk across the living room and up the stairs to the door. Once there, I pause a moment, noticing a little slip of paper tucked just under the door. My name, in Dumbledore's very recognizable handwriting, is on the front of the paper.

I pick it up and unfold it. Inside it reads:

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Your new bedroom will be decorated by your lovely self. We are never sure of a Head Girl's taste in room decor, and thus we leave the style of her bedroom to her own discretion. You may change it any time you like. All you need is this simple spell:_

_Mirror mirror on the wall_

_I'm sick and tired of it all._

_Then just imagine how you want your room to look, and that's how it will look._

_Sincerely,_

_Professor Dumbledore_

Hey, cool.

This is really awesome. I mean like friggin tubular. Whoa.

I push open the door and wander into a room that's empty except for my trunk and things. My room at home sucks, I went through this awful phase where pink was the world's best color and it should cover everything, so my room looks like Barbie invaded my home and commandeered the bedroom for herself. But here, I can fix that, and make my room totally awesome.

Only trouble is, I don't have any good ideas.

Jesus. I try and think of rooms I've seen that I've liked, but mostly they've been boys' rooms, so you know, it's different.

Oh, wait. Hang on, then. I just remembered my friend Melissa, an old friend who lives on my block at home. She has the awesomest room ever. The walls are bright green, and the carpet is cream colored. She's got a largish bed, with one side pushed up against the wall. A nice-sized stereo is at the foot of the bed, with a big closet right next to it. She has a gecko cage against her other wall, but I'll just put a desk there instead. Finally, the coolest part: a cozy loft that you can climb into by means of a ladder reaching through a hole in the ceiling!

I picture that in my mind, and mutter the spell under my breath. "Mirror, mirror on the wall, I'm sick and tired of it all."

With a soft _whoosh!_the room changes into EXACTLY how I pictured it. I mean like EXACTLY. It's redonkulous.

"Whoa," I say softly and wander around for a few minutes, admiring my new cozy hole before I start to unpack.

I'm about halfway finished with my shirts when Draco bangs open the door unceremoniously and says haughtily, "Granger, you've got some company."

I'll say I do. Come on in, clothing's not allowed, and let's fuck!

Then I see Harry and Ron standing downstairs in the living room, looking around in almost open-mouthed wonder. I mean, I know Ron's not wealthy and Harry lives with Muggles, so they've never seen anything like it, but why do they have to act like tourists all the time? Quite frankly, it's embarrassing. I mean, really, take a picture, it'll last longer.

I hurry past Draco (resisting the ginormous urge to slam him against the door and start making out with him and just taking it from there) and down the stairs to meet them.

"Hey, guys. I was just unpacking. What's up?" I ask in a friendly voice, hoping against hope they didn't come here to talk to me about what I know they came here to talk to me about.

"Didn't you say we'd talk later, Herms?" Ron asks, rather aggressively in my view. "And this is later, so..."

Yeah, I know, you stupid ass. I just said that so you'd leave me the fuck alone, I didn't actually mean it.

"Um, why don't you come on upstairs into my room, and I'll finish unpacking while we talk," I suggest, casting a nervous look at Draco, who's lounging around the top of the stairs, clearly waiting to see what will happen.

They nod and mutely follow me up to my room, where I usher them in and shut the door.

"Okay, what?" I ask a bit snappishly, trying to subtly convey that I don't want to have this conversation. Now or anytime.

"Look, Herms," Ron begins (here we go). "I just...I thought you liked me. And I don't understand what happened."

Could he make this any MORE awkward?

Once again, I take time to weigh my options. I could lie, give some excuse like that I had a stomach ache or something stupid, and lead him on. But that's not really being a good friend, not to mention I'd just be screwing myself over.

Or, I could be honest. As painful as it might be to him, he'll get over it. They all do.

Normally, I'd try to smooth it over or something. But this time, I choose honesty.

"Because I was wrong about my feelings, Ron. After our (horrifying) first kiss, I realized that I only liked you as a friend. I just didn't know how to tell you."

There, I said it. Done. Now leave.

But, of course, being Ron and a giant flipping asshole, he can't just leave. He has to overreact first.

"I CAN'T FUCKING BELIEVE YOU, HERMIONE! YOU LET ME THINK THERE WAS SOMETHING BETWEEN US FOR ALL THIS TIME, JUST BECAUSE YOU DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO SAY 'I THINK WE SHOULD JUST BE FRIENDS, RON!' THAT IS FUCKING RIDICULOUS! DON'T EVEN FUCKING TALK TO ME ANYMORE, YOU BITCH!"

Judging from the wide eyes and slightly gaping jaw, Harry's pretty shocked. But I'm not. I expected something along these lines.

"Fine, Ron," I say calmly. "You guys can leave, then."

They walk out, Ron's face as bright as a tomato. Harry looks a bit pale and peaky, and he casts me a worried glance over his shoulder as he leaves. I give him a little smile, then shut the door behind them.

Excellent. Now I've just alienated two of my best friends. School hasn't even started yet.

Just then, an explosion of loud voices downstairs pulls me out of my little nest of despair. What could that be now?

**Mwahahahaha! Yet another cliffhanger, cause I know you guys love them! Well please read and them press the pwetty button, pwetty pease. I loooooove youuuuuu. 33**

**Carrie**


	9. Wild Thing

1**Thank you, thank you everyone! I'm glad everyone likes the story and shtuff. Um...you'll have to hang tight because first, I must make my individual comments on your performance as reviewers. I'm happy to say, overall, none of you will need Viagra for reviewers. Okay, really bad joke. Sorry.**

**Jacqme: Thank you! I am still working on the action, but don't worry when we do get there it'll be good! I hate it when writers can't write good sex but they try to anyway...jeez. Hmmm angel food cake?**

**swimxmpx35: Thank you! I will get on that soon, never fear. Angel food cake?**

**marz: AWESOME. I hope you like angel food cake.**

**blonde-with-her-moments: No crying, please! Aww that would be so sad! I'm working on it, I just don't want to write a bad chappie. Please amuse yourself with angel food cake.**

**Candy04: I'll work a slap in there for ya, and you keep reviewing okay? And you'll have to read on to find all that out! Hee hee, angel food cake?**

**cameo667: I'll try not to. Thank you. Please partake in angel food cake.**

**tarzoniagirl: Excellent, but can I tempt you with angel food cake and not be rejected? Keep up the reading, I'll keep the good food coming.**

**remixsos: I'm glad you love the chappie! And you must read on to find out who's yelling! Would you like angel food cake?**

**Syren: Thank you! Hmm, actually not a bad idea. Let me know if you mind if I use it (crediting you of course). Later skater hater. Oh wait, do you want angel food cake?**

**remy: I'm glad you like it and I'm glad you were laughing! I hope you didn't choke on the ice cream cake. If you didn't, you can have angel food cake. If you did, you're on your own.**

**slyswn28: One of my most faithful reviewers...don't worry he'll get his and I know just how I'm going to do it too. I'm really glad you liked the spell-it was supposed to be longer but I can't rhyme anything, so I just stuck with that. Would you like angel food cake? And happy birthday!**

**Sparkzi: I'm really glad I make you laugh! I will try harder in the future to keep that up. Ron is a weirdo. He's a stupid jealous boy. Angel food cake?**

**Professional Toilet Flusher: Oh man, thank you so much. That's an amazing compliment. Please, stay and have angel food cake.**

**August Madison: I'm really glad you love the fic and you think everything works! It's fine that it's short. Would you like angel food cake?**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Except for the plot. And any other obvious figments of my imagination.**

**0000000000**

I push open the door to my room and edge onto the balcony thing. What the hell...

Oh no. Oh shit. Ohshitohshitohshit. Bugger bugger bugger. Dammit.

Ron, being restrained by the Boy-Who-Needs-Help-Holding-Back-That-Maniac, is wildly flailing his gangly body in all different directions. In short, he looks like he's having one giant epileptic attack. And the person he's flailing at is...none other than Malfoy, looking very cool, calm, collected, sexy...whoops...sitting on the sofa with his arm around his girlfriend.

His girlfriend. One HUGE flaw in my plan to take over his mind, body, and soul this year. Well, actually, fuck his mind and soul. He can keep them. I'll just take the body and be satisfied.

Anywho, his girlfriend. Pansy Parkinson. Perhaps one of the best-looking girls in our grade. She's got jet black hair, which has been the subject of a number of different styles during our years at Hogwarts, including once a mohawk, which, disappointingly, looked really good on her. She's pretty small, got small features and everything. Her eyes are a burning blue-grey, and her skin is pale and, of course, she never EVER wakes up in the morning to a huge knockout pimple like the rest of us. She's very clever, knows everything about everyone worth knowing about. She's into all the latest fashion, spends a lot of her time making her own clothes and designs. She's not a particularly nice person, but since when has that mattered in these kinds of stories and also to people like Draco, also not a particularly nice person? The two of them were practically made for each other. They've got it all: talent, looks, wealth. Well, you know. Wealth isn't everything to everyone, but it is in their families. I bet their parents are just pleased as punch. Did I mention how she's perfectly proportionate, too? I imagine she doesn't have to walk into a store to buy a bathing suit and ask for a small top and large bottoms, like yours truly and also the author of this story.

Unbelievable. What do I have on her, besides some brains and a bit more compassion?

But anyways, back to present crisis. Ron. A walking disaster. What an idiot.

I rush down the stairs, actually dragging my brain (albeit unwillingly) out of my daily Draco daydreams in order to hear what Ron is saying. Scratch that. Screaming incoherently.

"SO NOW YOU THINK YOU HAVE HER MALFOY! YOU GREAT BLOODY SON OF A BITCH, I'LL KILL YOU AND ALL YOUR FAMILY IF YOU EVER LAY A FINGER ON HER! DO YOU HEAR ME YOU PRICK! I'LL KILL YOU!"

Ho boy.

I walk up to him, consciously instructing my fingers not to reach out, grab him by the neck, and...

_She shook him hard, harder than he had ever been shaken in his life. He looked up and relaxed, startled by her strength. His watery gaze met her fierce look. His mouth hung open slightly, much like a gorilla or orangutan._

"_It's over Ron," her voice was surprisingly soft. "Don't you see? You will never have me. I belong to only one, whether he loves me or no."_

_Harry nodded. This had been a long time coming. He pulled a completely motionless Ron from the room, just as Draco pushed Pansy aside and walked towards the powerful creature standing in the middle of the room._

"_Hermione..." he said softly, brushing hair away from her face. "I..._

"-WILL HURT YOU, YOUR MOTHER, YOUR FATHER, YOUR PARROT, YOUR DOG, AND YOUR GOLDFISH! I WILL EVEN HURT YOUR DEAD GRANNY!"

"Ron! RON!" I shout, trying to be heard over his yelling. "Ron, get with it! What's the matter with you!" Honestly, sometimes I think that Mrs. Weasley should've just shipped him off to St. Mungo's for people with animalistic tendencies.

His head snaps towards me, like a spring. His eyes are roving wildly in his head. Fuck. I was more successful than I thought.

"Hermoine!" That's my name, don't wear it out.

"Ron," I say slowly, trying really hard to keep from flipping out, leaping forward, and trying to kill him. That would look really terrible in front of Draco, and not only would he think I wasn't attractive, he'd probably also think I was certifiably insane.


	10. Not Even A Slightly Good Year

1**A special thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed my last chapter. I know it's been a long time, but I kept going for you guys. Hugs, kisses, and chocolate chip cookies. I promise to do individual thanks next time.**

**Disclaimer: For the tenth time, I don't own these characters. I don't own a lot of things, actually, and these characters are definitely in that category. The storyline, however, is indeed my own. Thank you. Read.**

**0000000000**

At least it's quiet. Draco and I stand in the living room together, each of us caught up in our own thoughts. Mine, naturally, are of him, so since he's in the room, I'm not sure if they're just mine. Because they involve quite a lot of him. But yeah. Anyway.

Finally, he turns and goes upstairs. Damn. He didn't say anything to me. Not even a insult. Not a peep.

You know you're desperate when you want them to insult you just so you get some attention.

Alright, Hermoine, buck up and find something to do with yourself. How about some unpacking? Showering might be a good idea, considering you smell like a train. Maybe some reading?

I turn around and slowly go up to my own quarters. The green was a good idea, it's really relaxing and finally I feel like it's "my space." Like that website...okay, nevermind. Anywho, unpacking takes all of a millisecond, because I just wave my wand and everything goes away to wherever the hell I want it.

Which is usually the floor.

I ought to mention that people have a lot of misconceptions about me. They all think I'm a total nerd, which, actually, okay. I'll admit I was a huge dork up until about 5th year. That summer, I went on a trip with my parents to Australia, and I had SO much fun. My eyes were really opened a lot and my values kind of changed, you know? I learned to put other things before school, and all that. But, once people around here have an impression of you, then that just MUST be it.

Shit's fucked up.

Anyway, the entire point of that is that I'm a pretty messy person. And, if you're expecting a nerd, you usually expect neat, because nerd seems to go hand in hand with anal. But I'm not. Either one.

Moving on.

I've never taken so much time to shower and prep and pick out pajamas in my life.

I mean, seriously. I'm going to bed in a few hours and he's not interested anyway and is probably upstairs in his own room thinking about all the things he's going to do to Pansy.

Hmpf.

I plop down on the bed to watch some TV. Maybe catch the end of "The Office" or something like that. Click click click, stupid ass game show, stupid ass "family" movie, stupid ass news.

Okay, that didn't work out too well. Try something else.

No, not reading. If I open a book before I absolutely have to I'll go berserk-I've had quite enough reading, thank you very much.

I don't knit, so that's out of the option. I don't do much of anything really, come to think of it. I have no interesting talents that make me a Really Cool Fun Girl To Hang Out With. I'm just...myself, and well, that doesn't seem to be too interesting to many people.

What a boring start to the year. So far I've gotten to school, glimpsed Mr. Gorgeous for about 30 seconds, taken a shower, put on my pajamas, and sat on the couch like a lump.

Might as well go off to bed. Nothing else to do around here in Bumble-bore's palace. Ooh, did I just say that out loud?

Trundle off to bed. Come on, lard ass, let's go, he's not coming down, stop lingering like the longer you wander around near the bottom of the stairs aimlessly the more likely he is to come out and screw you.

I finally manage to get my very uncooperative self up to my own bedroom door. But even as I turn the knob and start to go in, I can't help but turn around and look up at Draco's (shut) bedroom door one last time.

_She looked up and saw him standing there in the moonlight, clad only in a white terry cloth bathrobe. He looked majestic and powerful and she dared not open her mouth for fear this might be some dream. "Hermione." She trembled at the sound of his voice, and could only watch wordlessly as he descended the staircase and walked over to her. He reached out a hand to touch her flawless face. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever met." "Do you truly mean that, Draco?" Finally she found her voice. "Of course I do. I love you. I always have." He smiled slightly as he said this, almost as if he were afraid she would turn him down. "Oh Draco. You don't know how long I've wanted to say the same to you," she exclaimed softly. At this, he swept her up in a passionate embrace..._

THUMP. I fall face down on the floor. I was inactive for so long, my foot fell asleep. Fuck. I'm just a walking mess today, aren't I? I drag myself off the floor and lumber across my new room to my bed, where I can finally collapse in safety and fantasize about mine and Draco's future life together in peace. That is, at least, until I have to get up for school tomorrow. I hope I have all the right books-I let my parents go get them this year so I could avoid Ron in Diagon Alley cause I knew he'd try to see me there. I haven't even bothered to check my schedule yet. If I had Transfiguration or Herbology first tomorrow, I couldn't tell you. I just know that I'm living with Draco Malfoy and somehow, someway, this has to be at least a slightly good year.

It does not start out as a slightly good year. In fact, it does not start out as a good year at all.

For one thing, this appears to be one of those days when my goddamn fucking hair will absolutely not do what I want it to do, no matter how much shit I put in it or how many times I wash and blow dry it. It just simply refuses to cooperate. Instead, it wants to look all weird and lumpy. Even when I finally harness it all in a hair tie, it still looks all weird and lumpy. Whatever. I finally just let it go and keep on going with my morning routine.

Secondly, I notice something very disturbing during said morning routine. Every morning, I wash my face using random face products or whatever the hell happens to be closest to my hand. Now, normally, I have pretty clear skin (thankfully not too many problems in that area, though more could be said for my hair). But this morning, as I'm busy scrubbing my face, I notice one little spot where it hurts when I wash over it.

Fuck. One of those horrible pimples that you can feel coming. Great. Just stellar. And on my first day back, too. And just when the first person who's going to see me is the Sex God. Aweeeesome.

I might as well just start smashing my head against the sink now and be done with it. At least my misery would be over.

Well hopefully the little fuck won't pop up until I get back to the safety of my room after classes today. Hopefully.

I glance over at the clock. Shit. It's already a quarter to 8, and I'm supposed to meet Ginny downstairs for breakfast in 15 minutes, and I still have to look at my schedule and find out what books I need and get my personal things together. And unfortunately, I can't quite remember where I put my schedule. I run out into my room and begin searching the nightstand. Thankfully I don't have to get too panicked before I find it lying in the drawer of the nightstand. My classes before lunch break are Transfiguration and double Herbology with the Hufflepuffs. That's good enough for now. I'll come back here at lunch and figure out what else I need. I grab the books that I need and my purse and fly out the door. I hope I remembered my concealer and mirror, just in case the little fuck doesn't wait until after school and pops up just when I don't want it to.

Okay, time to go. Stop worrying, Hermoine, and just go. Everything will be okay. What a crock of crap. Even I don't believe myself. Whatever. Just shut up. Alright, don't be so bossy. Jeez.

I run down as fast as possible to the Great Hall, where I see Ginny sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table. Alone. Thank God.

I rush over to her. "Ginny!"

"Morning, Hermoine." She's reading a magazine and doesn't even look up at me. Great. No one is paying attention to me. Not even my best (and only) girl friend.

"Ginny, I need to ask you a very important question. I need the hard truth."

She puts the magazine down and looks up at me. "Okay. Shoot."

"Can you see the pimple on my face?

"What pim-ohhh. That one? Right there on your cheek?"

Ouch. She didn't even have to scrutinize my skin to notice it.

"Yeah. That one. Right there on my cheek. How bad is it?"

"Well...right now it's just a little red. But I wouldn't be surprised if it were bigger by lunchtime."

Thank you, Captain Tactful. When I said "hard truth" I meant "hard truth with a little bit of icing."

"Oh, awesome. Well at least I brought my conceal-..." I confidently reach into my purse as I say this and push my hand around looking for the little familiar bottle, which, of course, is not there. I must've forgotten it in my rush to get downstairs. "Shit."

"You forgot it, didn't you?" Ginny says, going back to her magazine. "Well, did Draco see you this morning?"

"No. Thank God." I suddenly remember that I haven't seen hide nor hair of him all morning. He's not in the Great Hall, and I didn't see him in our dorms.

"Do you have any classes with him this morning?"

"Um...no. I'm only going to see Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs all morning."

"Well there you go. Just run back upstairs once you have a break and get it then. Problem solved."

True. Very true. And now we have another problem to deal with. Which would be putting up with Psychopath all morning.

"And another thing."

"Go."

"I have to put up with Ron all morning. Did I tell you what he did yesterday?"

"No, you didn't, but he filled me in on the details of his sob story, about how he went to your rooms to try and get you back or something. Apparently Harry unfortunately dragged him out of the room just as you were about to jump on him and say you loved him."

"Oh please. You had to know that's a bunch of bull, right? I was trying to get him to calm down, he kept screaming at the top of his lungs. Poor Harry tried to hold him back-he wanted to kill the Sex God."

"Are you serious?" Ginny starts laughing. As if this is a laughing matter. It's a matter of Sex God Life or Death. "Crikey, he made it sound as if he were the hero in all of this. Come to think of it, of course he did. He was in denial about what really happened." She pauses for a moment, then continues. "Don't worry about him, Hermione. Just pay attention in your classes and stuff-he can't really bother you while the teachers are around anyway. They'll probably zap him into silence."

And if they don't, I will. As I sit pondering this and eating my breakfast (trying to estimate the value of all the trouble I'll get into if I zap Ron into silence for eternity), I get so out of it that Ginny actually has to kick me to get my attention.

"Who haven't you seen all morning?" She asks, almost laughing, and nods in the direction of the Great Hall entrance. I know exactly who she's talking about without even turning around. "Don't turn around," she advises. "Just keep eating and ignore him."

But of course, now that she said that, I can't just keep eating and ignore him, I have to turn around and take in the goodness.

_He walked majestically across the stone floor, seeming to float as he came closer and closer to her. His black robes swept the ground, and as he passed heads turned to stare in wonder. But he didn't notice. All he could pay attention to was the brunette beauty sitting quietly at the end of the table, talking with her friend and paying no attention to him. _

"_Hermione." His voice was a low rumble; she looked up, startled._

"_Draco? What is it?"_

"_I couldn't help but notice you as I walked in this morning. I need you, Hermione. I sat in my bedchamber all last night pacing. I couldn't sleep because my dreams were haunted by your beauty."_

And then I do a really stupid thing. I drop my fork and call attention to myself. Myself, with my mouth hanging open, ready to catch flies.

"I told you not to look!" Ginny hisses. "You were staring at him! Pick up your fork, you idiot!"

I numbly do as I'm told. I pick up my fork and check my watch. "Oh shit. I have to get to class. McGonagall will zap me into silence if I'm late on my first day."

"You're damn right she will. And I'll zap you into oblivion if you don't listen to me. You're really going to blow it with the Sex God this year if you don't take a little bit of advice from me, you know." Ginny passes me my bag and picks up her magazine. "Try not to do anything stupid on your way out."

"Shut up."

But I heed her advice and am very careful not to bump into anything or trip on my way out of the Great Hall. I'm also careful not to look at him (no, not even take a peek, that counts as looking) as I leave. I'm actually very proud of myself-I make it all the way out of the hall and to a safe looking distance before I turn around to gawk at him one last time.

But even as I do that, I wish I hadn't. He's sitting there all nice and edible looking with his arm around Pansy, who is also looking nice and edible that morning. They're busy talking to their friends, and I can tell that I haven't even registered myself on his radar at all.

Crap. I really will have to try harder if I don't want to blow it with the Sex God this year. But for now, I need to get to class. Before I'm zapped into silence. Instead of the Psychopath.


	11. Ready for a Change

1**secretspells311: Well, I'm glad you think it's okay.**

**Lexie the Dreamer: I'm happy not to disappoint you. I hope you like this chapter!**

**Natasha: I'm sorry your first kiss sucked as much as mine (and Hermione's.) I hope you like the rest of the story.**

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**sugar n spice 522: I hope you like this chapter too.**

**Disclaimer: Still not mine. Nothing has changed. At least not in the ownership department.**

**0000000000**

I slide into my desk in Professor McGonagall's classroom, almost (but not quite) happy that classes have started so I can have other things to occupy my mind besides my normally disastrous behavior around the Sex God. Transfiguration is usually interesting and in all my other years at Hogwarts, it has managed to keep my attention pretty easily.

And then in comes the Psychopath, thundering like a moron, with The-Boy-Who-Couldn't-Possibly-Go-Anywhere-Alone trailing behind him. They're laughing and talking about something (probably Quidditch, judging by their exaggerated arm movements in a poor attempt to recreate "awesome" moves they've picked up without the aid of brooms. And I would also imagine that the only one who's really picked up any "awesome" moves is Harry, who happens to be more talented than Ron at Quidditch. So much more talented, in fact, that it's simply ridiculous.) The moment Ron sees me, however, the arm movements stop and the Ron-trying-to-be-stealth moves take over. You know, the moves where they pretend they're invisible and there's no possible way you could have noticed them walking right in front of you. Give me a break, Ron. Does he honestly think I'm going to bother him at all? I hate it when they pull shit like that-boys, I mean. They do one little (or in Ron's case, big) stupid thing and then they act like it's all you and you're going to harrass them the minute you see them, when in reality you're perfectly happy and would like nothing better than to avoid them. Anyway. Ron and Harry take seats across the room from me, closest to the door. Harry smiles at me slightly, and mouths, "Talk later," then goes back to his inordinately fascinating conversation with Ron, who keeps shooting glances he obviously thinks are stealthy in my direction.

I couldn't be happier when McGonagall walks into the room and tells everyone to shut the fuck up so she can take the goddamn roll. Well, not exactly like that, but you get the picture.

I fear not even Transfiguration is going to be able to keep my mind off other things this year. Crap. And I was so looking forward to getting my useless and so far fruitless quest to shag the Sex God out of my mind for a little while. Thinking of all the ways it's going to fail makes me slightly depressed.

And that fucking zit isn't getting any smaller, either. I can practically feel it growing on my face, like a balloon. Don't touch it. As tempting as it is to touch it to gauge the size, don't touch the little shit. Just...pay attention to the lesson. In a few hours, you'll be able to go back to your chambers and get your makeup and do some touch-ups in the privacy of your own bathroom, and everything will be okay. Just pay attention now. It'll be alright. Just one more class after this one.

It's useless. I can't even convince myself. I have no persuasion skills whatsoever. Thankfully I'm not relying on those to coax His Uber-Sexiness into bed. I'd be fucked.

Pay attention, asshole.

"Now, before we get to today's lesson, I would like to remind everyone that your NEWTs are coming up at the end of this year. I hope I do not need to stress the difficulty and importance of these tests. Therefore, I would advise all of you to pay attention in class. That includes you, Mr. Weasley. Considering your end of term grades from last year, I would say it is safe to assume that you are not at all prepared for these tests. You might want to stop talking to Potter over there; I'm sure your conversation can wait to be continued until after my class."

Ron looks up, his face immediately turning red. I have to stifle a very Draco-like snigger. Stupid prat. Probably carefully going over the details of what happened last night with Harry and trying desperately to figure out where things went wrong. If he asked me, I could definitely give him a clue.

"And now, on to today's lesson. Today we will be learning how to turn these scarves into thermal blankets. Although the spell is not difficult, it does take a lot of practice to actually get an adult-sized blanket. The spell word you are going to be using is _blanketus_ (A/N: I apologize for my very uncreative spell words-I'll try to get better as I keep writing). The root of this word..."

At this point, parchment and quills are pulled out of bags, and heads are bowed low over the desks, dutifully writing down everything the professor says.

I must admit, this is one of the more practical transfigurations we've done yet. I mean seriously, who the fuck is going to give a shit if you can turn a candle into a turtle if you're on the street and dying? Nobody.

I wonder how big that stupid pimple on my face is by now. It certainly feels enormous. I'm sure by this point it's residing on half my cheek and is about to overtake my nose. Good God. How much longer is this class?

"...the wand movement is simple as well. Merely a flick, and a swish. Not to be confused with swish and flick, of course. If you swish and then flick, you will probably find yourself turned into a blanket."

A few students chuckle weakly as they realize this is McGonagall's effort at a joke. I don't even bother. I'm too busy worrying about the Himalayan mountain growing on my face.

"If there are no questions, I will allow everyone to come up to the front of the room and take a scarf from the box...then, you may go back to your desks and practice until the end of class."

I wander up to the scarf box with the rest of the class, grab one, and go back to my desk.

I'm absentmindedly practicing the wand movements before I say the incantation when, suddenly, my head is jerked backwards violently.

"Oops...um...Hermione...don't move...my wand is kind of, uh, stuck..."

Fuck. Neville Longbottom must be at the desk behind me. And from the feel of it, he's gotten his wand stuck in my hair.

Spectacular.

"Sorry, Herms. Just...hold still while I untangle it..." I comply with his request, even though I can feel his chubby little fingers tangling the wand up even more in my hair. A blind elephant could better untangle the damn thing.

"What's the problem, Longbottom?" McGonagall, always the first to notice a fuss, calls out.

"N-nothing, Professor," Neville stutters nervously. "I just got my wand stuck in Hermione's hai-there we go."

And Neville does the one thing I didn't want him to do.

He uses all of his strength to _rip_ the wand out of my hair.

I use all of my strength not to curse and turn around and kill him.

I'm too busy tentatively reaching my hand back towards my ponytail, which has, to my dismay, turned into a giant war zone. I must look ridiculous.

One very long half an hour later, I finally get out of that class and rush to the girls' bathroom so I can look in the mirror and see what kind of casualty I look like.

The very fucked-up kind, that's for damn sure. My hair is a knotted, tangled mess that only a shower with some shampoo and conditioner can fix, and the pimple on my face seems to have grown by half and turned very red since the last time I looked.

And now I have to sit through double Herbology. Thank God it's not with the Slytherins-I would seriously risk my reputation and skip that class if it were. I glance at my watch. There's not enough time to run up to my chambers-by the time I got up there, I'd just have to turn around and run back out. I'll just have to go to Herbology as is, looking like I got attacked by some hair-eating, pimple-causing fungus.

This is turning out to be such a bad day. And knowing my luck, it's going to get a lot worse before it's over.

My little prophecy comes true the moment I walk out of the bathroom door. Draco Malfoy is lounging against the wall across the hallway, presumably already at his next class.

"What happened, Granger?" He asks lazily. "Did a book eat your hair?"

I have to decide between punching him in the nose or taking advantage of his current position against the wall.

Both not good. I'll have to go with a more neutral option.

"Shove it, Ferret," I respond, and hurry away as fast as possible before my crush-crazy brain takes over and does something I'll regret later. Just get to the greenhouses. The morning is almost over.

As I walk into Greenhouse 3, I can hear a few snickers and know that everyone is laughing about my hair. A few are probably having a good laugh about the zit, too.

And I have to sit through two periods of this?

What did I do, Lord, to offend you so?

Thankfully, I'm also very much just on time to this class, and Professor Sprout walks in before the comments can start flying.

"Settle down, settle down. I would assume your last teacher already gave you the speech about your NEWTs, so I'm not going to waste any time in repeating what he or she already said. We're just going to jump right into our lesson-we'll be working with the dragon vine for the first few weeks of term, folks. Now, can anyone tell me the magical properties of the dragon vine?"

A few hands are raised; mine, however is not one of them. I'm going to try and draw as little attention to myself as possible today.

I'm so wrapped up in my own little melodrama that I don't notice Harry has moved next to me until he starts whispering.

"Not having a good day, Herms?" Oh no shit, Sherlock, what gave that one away? Shut up, you bitch. He's just trying to be nice.

"I think this is one of the worst days of my life," I whisper back. "Did you see my hair? That idiot Neville got his wand stuck in it in Transfiguration."

"Yeah, I was there, that was awful." One good thing about Harry-he's pretty tactful. So even though he probably thought it was funny as all hell, he would never tell me.

"Granger! Potter! I apologize if my lecture is interrupting your conversation, but you need to know this for your NEWTs."

"Sorry, Professor," we both mumble, and the little chat is over.

"Now, today, we will be pairing up and carefully cutting out pieces of the dragon vine. Be sure to collect the blood that will drip out upon cutting the plant. Once you have collected three vials of blood, label them with your names. As soon as everyone is finished, you can have a 10 minute break. Then come back and we're going to begin studying the magical properties of the blood. Alright? Grab a partner, pruning shears, three vials, and get to work on a plant."

Thankfully, Harry is more than willing to be my partner. At least I'm not going to have to explain the state of my hair ten zillion times during class. I hate that, having to repeat an embarrassing story over and over again as everyone from the bum on the street to the pope asks you about it. That, somehow, always seems to happen to me.

We grab the required equipment and get to work on one of the dragon vines, not attempting to engage in conversation as we do so. This is probably the best course of action. Considering how my day is going so far, I might pruning shear my finger off if I don't pay attention.

Wait...that might not be a bad idea...I'd get to spend some time in the hospital wing...it's an easy out for this horrible day...

Oh shut up, you moronic masochist.

Finally, everyone has collected their three vials of dragon vine blood, and our ten-minute break is put into action. Harry follows me outside into the sunlight, and we plop down a few yards away from the greenhouse so we can talk in private.

"Herms, what's going on with you this year? I haven't seen you this out of it since...well, I've never seen you this out of it, actually," Harry says to me, worry crossing his face.

As I ponder how to best answer this question and remain one of Harry's friends, I look behind him and see Ron milling around by himself, looking quite lost.

I feel sorry for him.

Tonsil surgery.

Never mind. I don't feel sorry for him. Just looking at him gave me flashbacks. Yikes.

And now on to Harry's question. What to say? In the end, I decide to just be honest.

"To be perfectly honest with you, I don't really know what's going on with me. It's been a very odd past couple of weeks, what with the whole Ron...thing...and me being named Head Girl and having to move in with Se-Draco Malfoy..."

Hopefully he didn't catch that little slip of the tongue. Okay, maybe I'm not ready to be completely honest.

He's a guy. He didn't catch the tongue slip.

But he obviously doesn't believe that my reason could be that simple.

He gives me a Look.

I cave.

"Oh alright, and also, I'm so tired of people just seeing me as a walking brain. It's an exhausting image to live up to and also not entirely true. Don't you ever just get so TIRED of people seeing you the same way?"

Harry, of all people, should definitely understand where I'm coming from. I mean, come on, everywhere he goes, people have already defined him as The Hero Who Defeated Lord Voldemort. Seriously, and I think my little image is hard to live up to? At least the world isn't expecting me to save it.

"I get where you're coming from, Hermione," Harry responds, a very serious look on his face. "I really do. But the only person who can change the way people view you is...you. And I know that sounds stupid and cliche and like something your mother would tell you, but it's true."

He's right, I know he is. Just like Ginny is right about me taking her advice and maybe not blowing it with the Sex God this year.

But I don't know if I'm ready to change yet. Well, not true. I am ready to show people I'm not the Nerd Queen of the Universe, I just don't know HOW. That's the part that's really troubling me.

But my little troubled thoughts are interrupted by Professor Sprout calling everyone back to the greenhouse.

"Everyone in! Let's get back to work!"

Oh, fun and joy.

I never knew anyone could drop so many vials.

Neville happened to be at the work station next to me, and he dropped two vials with dragon vine blood, and they of course splashed all over me.

Lovely. Now, not only do I look like I've been in a war, I smell like I've spent some quality time in a garbage dump. Or maybe a swamp. Either way, the smell is not good.

I have about an hour to clean myself up. Fuck lunch, I think I've lost my appetite. It's off to my chambers for me. I'm going to have to take a shower now. I want to attract the Sex God when I smell like vanilla and strawberries or something, not when I smell like the Swamp Thing.

I make it up to my chambers without too many people seeing me. I was, after all, the first to bolt out of our class and most people are just heading out of their classroom and to the Great Hall to discuss what an awesome first day they've been having.

Actually, the ones to make the biggest deal out of my appearance aren't people at all.

Desdemona and Esmerelda have really big mouths.

I really want to punch both of them in the kidneys.

When I reach the wooden doors and gasp out the password, I guess the tone of my voice must attract some attention, because they each stop doing their equally useless tasks and look at me.

"What happened to you?" the one on the left (I can't remember which one that is) giggles at me.

"Just shut up and let me in, I gave the password," I growl. Even as they obligingly swing themselves forward, I can hear them gossiping excitedly.

"Did you see her clothes? She was covered in blood!"

"That wasn't the worst part, did you see her HAIR!"

I don't even live up to the appearance expectations of wooden door carvings. Excellent. If they made a Queer Eye for women, those guys would be all over me in a heartbeat.

I trudge into the living room and drop my satchel on the floor near the fireplace. I'm just dragging myself and my purse up the stairs to my room, quietly rejoicing in my solitude, when I hear a familiar drawling voice behind me.

"Quite the mess, aren't we, Granger?"

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!

"It's been a rough morning," I respond, hoping to end the conversation there. As much as I want to turn around so I can gape at him, something tells me giving him a full-frontal view would just entice more insults and this conversation would keep going. As it turns out, it really doesn't matter if I turn around or not, because the conversation continues anyway.

"I'll say," The Picture of Perfection replies. "I don't know if anyone has informed you of this, Granger, but if they haven't, someone should-you smell positively awful. What did you do, roll around in dog shit or something?"

Before I say this, I'm going to apologize right now. I'm sorry Neville, but you really brought this on yourself by being a bumbling idiot.

"Well, apparently this is the result of having Neville Longbottom working next to you all morning," I reply, immediately feeling guilty. Neville takes enough abuse from everyone as it is, and here I am talking shit behind his back. Lovely, Hermione.

Draco smirks at this, and opens his mouth to say something else, but I really need to take a shower and I'm not going to let him have control of this conversation any longer.

"Why are you up here, anyway?" I ask.

At that exact moment, Pansy Parkinson walks out of Draco's room, straightening her robes.

There you go. My answer.

I almost feel like crying. Or maybe just sticking my wand in her hair and messing it up.

I don't know how she does it, but she always manages to make me feel bad about my appearance. She's just one of those girls. You walk out of the house feeling like you truly look awesome and sexy today, and then you bump into people like her, and you automatically feel like you look like shit and why the fuck did you wear this today?

Before this can go any further, I'm just going to go take a shower now. I walk into my room and shut the door on both of them, locking it behind me before I head off to my bathroom.

I emerge from the shower about half an hour later, feeling refreshed. I no longer smell like the blood of a dragon vine, and I actually managed to untangle my hair. I also found my concealer, sitting right on the sink top where I left it. I dry my hair as quickly as possible, put on a clean uniform, and then get to work on hiding the Alp on my face.

Unfortunately, my concealer doesn't want to cooperate with me today. Instead, it applies itself perfectly _around_ the monster, but refuses to adequately cover up the redness and/or the zit itself.

I am so destined to blow it this year with the Sex God.

Finally, I just give up. Today is not my day, obviously.

I find my schedule in my bag downstairs and look it over to see what classes I have to endure this afternoon before this horrible day is over. Charms, right after lunch and...

Potions, with the Slytherins. Yay. I can hardly contain my excitement.

At least it's only one period though. It could be worse and be double Potions with the Slytherins.

Because of the amount of homework teachers assign seventh-year students, the schedules of said students are shortened so there are fewer classes in a day, giving us time to do all that homework we need to do in order to achieve good marks on our NEWTs. Therefore, I will never have more than five classes in one day, compared to everyone else, who will have six. Although this sounds like a pretty good deal, the homework is enough to make you wish for six classes and to not be taking huge ugly tests at the end of the year.

Well, it's off to Charms for me, I guess.

Charms, thankfully, passes without incident. Maybe just the morning was bad, and the rest of the day will be alright.

Ron keeps looking at me oddly during the entire Charms class, but that's probably just because he's wondering why I wasn't at lunch so he could harrass me. Whatever.

I'm almost in a better mood and am actually having a civil conversation with Lavender Brown about her new boyfriend when I remember that my last class of the day is Potions.

With the Slytherins.

Good feeling's gone.

Not only will I have to put up with Ron (and that bumblefuck Neville), but I'll have to handle both of them in front of the Sex God. This is a combination made for disaster. My psycho ex, a moron, and Mr. Hot Stuff, all in the same room, and all taking up worry space in my head.

"Hermione, are you listening to me?" The insistent voice of Lavender cuts through my worries.

"Um...sorry...actually, Lavender, what would you do if you had your psycho ex and your new crush and they were both in the same room and you had to deal with both of them at the same time?"

Maybe she has some better ideas than I do about how to take care of all this.

"I'd pray for the ground to open up and swallow me whole," she laughs.

It was worth a shot.

By the time we reach the Potions classroom, my stomach has twisted itself into something resembling a wrung-out dishcloth. I don't even know why I'm getting so worried. It's not like Draco's actually interested in me or anything. I mean, get real, he already has the perfect girlfriend, and even if he didn't, it's not like it's hard for him to get girls or anything. And Harry seems to have kept Ron in check all day-Ron hasn't bothered me today. So my only real, legitimate worry is Neville, because I've already had several unpleasant encounters with him today. Maybe that and having to sit through Potions feeling physically and personality-inferior to Pansy Parkinson.

I begin to relax. Not nearly as much to have a meltdown about as I thought.

Professor Snape begins his class much the same way as Professor McGonagall, talking about the NEWTs and how important they are. Then, he gets on to the lesson.

"Today we are going to be constructing a very simple potion. Made correctly, it should only take about 15 minutes to be complete. Some of you may have heard of it. It's called _Herodotia_, named after the wizarding medical genius Herodotus. He created it several thousand years ago, and Healers continue to use it today. It is a multi-function potion, but its chief use is to cure all fevers instantly. If everyone will open your textbooks to page..."

God, Draco is so hot. Look at the way his face moves when he's interested in something someone is saying. Look at the way his fingers move when he opens his book...

Shit. Opens his book. Everyone's opening their books. I zoned out and I have no idea what page we're on or anything.

"Miss Granger, if you would kindly stop staring at Mr. Malfoy and pay attention to the lesson at hand. You need to know this for your NEWTs. And since you didn't raise your hand when I asked who had heard of this potion, it means you really have no idea what I'm talking about, for a change. Twenty points from Gryffindor for your inadequacy."

The Slytherins are roaring with laughter, and Pansy is giving me nasty little he's-mine looks from across the room, much akin to the looks several of my house-mates are shooting me for losing 20 points already.

Snape allows the Slytherins several more minutes of their side-splitting laughfest before mildly instructing them to settle down and continuing with his lesson.

Finally, we're allowed to get our cauldrons, collect the ingredients for the potion, and get to work.

And once again, I'm stuck near Neville, who has no Potions skills whatsoever and usually relies on me for help. If I only I were in a better mood with him today and willing to give him said help.

The Potion really isn't hard to make at all. It's just a few simple ingredients. Perhaps the most difficult part of all is the stirring of the brew once it's in the cauldron. Seven stirs to the right, eight to the left...

I'm nearly finished with my potion when I hear a loud, "Oops!" from behind me and something splashes into my cauldron. Steam angrily rises up, and when it clears, my potion is no longer the maroon it was before.

It's bright purple.

"Sorry, Hermione," Neville says, his round face looking worried as Snape, malevolent human bat, swoops down on us both.

"What's going on?"

"I...uh...I accidentally knocked a jar of bat wings into Hermione's potion, s-sir..." Neville stutters.

"Perhaps we should give you your own dungeon, Longbottom, so you won't endanger other students or their work," Snape drawls. "Ten points from Gryffindor. Continue working. Looks like you'll have to start again, Miss Granger."

By the time I get out of Snape's dungeon, I am humiliated, tired, and about 20 minutes behind everyone else.

I head straight for the library to start on my homework and get some of it out of the way before dinner. I'm so busy examining the list of work I have to do and trying to decide on what to start first that it takes me a few seconds to notice the sniggering as I enter the library.

Excellent. A whole table of Slytherins. The Sex God and his friends have obviously chosen to make homework and insulting me a group effort tonight.

"Better hide your face with a book, Draco, I think Granger's staring at you again," Blaise Zabini says, and Draco's posse cackles with laughter, like it's the funniest thing they ever heard.

I don't even know what to say, so I hurry away to my own corner and get started on my homework.

Ah yes. Once again burying myself in books because I'm socially inept. Great job, that's really showing them you're not a bookworm, Hermione.

By the time the dinner bell rings, I know exactly what I have to do, and who I have to talk to to do it.

"Ginny!" Luckily for me, she's passing by the library just as I'm leaving, and we walk down to the Great Hall together.

"You remember how you suggested giving me a makeover and all that shit?" I ask.

"Yeah," she replies. "Why? You want to do it?"

"Actually, I think I do."

I've had a shitty enough day that it's convinced me that I need to change. I am not enduring a whole year of this.

I'm going down swinging.

**Well, I hope you liked it! It's one of my longer chapters. The story should start picking up from here. Read and review, please.**

**Carrie**


	12. Power Shopping

1**sugar n spice 522: Well I'm glad you liked it! And yes, I seem to have those days more often than a normal person...unfortunately...: 0 )**

**Dracoismysexgod: I'm happy you changed your mind. Lots more Harry and Ron humor to come.**

**Bondariana: Thanks! I know, I'm working on making them longer, everyone says that.**

**remy-moon: Thank you very much, and if you just scroll down a bit here is the makeover chapter. Hope you like it.**

**Glamour Princess: A great big thanks, and I'm updating as soon as possible.**

**greenweirdo: Very happy you can relate. Waving and staring. Lovely. waves and stares at you Sorry I couldn't resist. : 0 )**

**mystical137: Glad you liked it, and I'm seriously considering taking your suggestions. I will of course credit you, and let me know if you mind or not.**

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**MOONEYpadfootPRONGS: Thanks! I will!**

**Slytherin Princess: Thank you, and if I keep on schedule and write in between college applications, you'll be reading this chapter very soon.**

**karine.snake: My apologies for stopping. Here you go.**

**-CuteAnimeBoysMakeMePant-: Thank you very much for the compliment about my humor. No seriously, I really appreciate it. I hope you like this chapter.**

**frozenroses: Thank you! And yes, the Fall Out Boy reference was very intentional. I wanted to see if anyone got that, and you did. Yaaay!**

**Curlyq2713: Glad you think it's still funny. Hopefully it will remain funny until the end, but you never know, I have my unfunny days.**

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**Lexie the Dreamer: Happy to see you're still reviewing-I think you've been one of my most constant readers from the start. I really appreciate your support for my little story.**

**And now, treats all around, in honor of -CuteAnimeBoysMakeMePant-, who asked for them. Cookies?**

**And hopefully everyone went to see the fourth Harry Potter movie. Draco Malfoy in a black tux? Cedric Diggory? Harry Potter half naked in a bathtub? I personally think we should put all three of them together in the bathtub and then move the scene to my personal bathtub, but that's just me. If nothing else, go see the movie cause all three of them are droolworthy.**

**Disclaimer: Same deal.**

**0000000000**

We have to wait until the weekend to actually put my makeover into action. But it sure is fun to plan the damn thing during mealtimes in the Great Hall with Ginny.

"We're going to work with what you already have," she's telling me Friday morning at breakfast, while I'm desperately trying to keep my eyes open after another night spent hunched over homework until the wee hours of the morning.

On a side note, I'd like to inform you that, sadly, even though we're living together, I don't actually see that much of the Sex God, however you want to take that. We're both busy doing homework much of the time so far, and when he's not busy doing homework he's busy doing Pansy or something else, so our quality time together is pretty much the same as it was before: none.

But, back to the breakfast table.

"What do I already have that we can work with?" I ask, completely thrown for a loop. I mean, the only thing I can think of that I have that doesn't need altering is a brain. Everything else was skimped on because so much quality went to said brain. I got the Brainiac Gene, not the Looks Gene or the Not Making a Fool Out of Yourself Every Five Seconds Gene. By the time they got done with my brain, they were just too tired to do a good job with everything else.

"Well, you do have a nice body, actually," Ginny says. "We can accentuate your assets and not be too obvious about it. That's a rare thing, you know."

No, I don't know. But I'll take your word for it.

Breakfast turns into Transfiguration again, and then another class, and then lunch, and by the last class of the day, which unfortunately is History of Magic with dry old Professor Binns, I am bored shitless.

So I start fiddling with our makeover plans. Ginny's actually made an itinerary for us to follow, and the first thing we're supposed to do tomorrow morning is go to Hogsmeade and buy makeup and clothing and do a whole bunch of other nonsense only she really understands. Something about "finding a look that's good for you."

Whatever that means.

And while I'm on the fiddling note, is it sad that Professor Binns is so caught up in his own subject that he doesn't notice a student sitting in the second row doing something else? Or should he be commended for his interest in his work?

I'm never quite sure.

Just like I'm not so sure about this makeover thing, now that I'm hearing what a whole load of work it's going to be. If I'd have known I was going to have to pick a look or whatever, I don't think I ever would have signed up for this rubbish.

But there's no turning back now. I have a nasty feeling Ginny's been aching to do this for a while but was too much of a good friend to blatantly suggest it to me. She waited for me to bring it up myself, and by now she's so excited that even if I wanted to put on the brakes I wouldn't be able to.

Woo-hoo, Hermione Granger is on the Sex Train. Similar to the well-known Soul Train, only hopefully my train leads to a good shagging and a hot boyfriend.

Thank God I haven't become one of those people who talks to herself. Not even Harry and Ron would put up with someone who says things like "Sex Train." That's one thing I'm thankful I've managed to do: keep all my little weird humor moments to myself.

I'm so caught up in wondering what tomorrow will be like that I don't notice Harry, who is sitting next to me (Ron chose to sit near Seamus today), peering over my shoulder.

"What is that?" His sudden whisper scares the crap out of me and I have to consciously remind myself that I'm in class and can't make a big loud deal out of anything.

"Nothing," I reply, struggling to hide the piece of parchment between the pages of my History of Magic textbook. "Just some homework stuff, that's all."

What a shitty liar I am. Clearly by the look on his face Harry doesn't believe me, and clearly by the way he's snatching the parchment one can come to the same conclusion.

"What the-?" He whispers, laughing a bit.

"Just put it down, I'll explain after class," I say, a bit more angrily then I intended to. It's bad enough I'm not remotely girly and can't give myself a makeover, but I don't want one of my best friends who is not included to know about it.

"Is that Ginny's makeover thing?" Apparently, he does know about it. Fuck. Jeez Ginny, it's not that exciting to be giving me a makeover.

"How did you know about it?" Maybe there's some kind of innocent explanation so that I may spare Ginny's life, because if she was just babbling to get recognition I am going to be forced to strangle her.

"She wants me to be a sort of...male judge, was my impression. She wants to test looks on me, I guess," Harry says, turning a bit red but mainly looking confused. "I'm not exactly sure what that means, though."

At dinner, Harry finds out exactly what that means.

"You're going to be coming shopping with us, Harry, and Hermione's going to try on clothes or makeup and you're going to give your male opinion," Ginny's telling him over mashed potatoes. "Honestly, what's so hard to understand about that? It'll be fun, you'll see."

"She told me the same thing," I stage whisper to Harry, who shakes a little with laughter.

"Well unfortunately I have nothing to do tomorrow, so I have no excuse. Even though I highly doubt 'fun' is the right word to describe what we're doing," he says.

Ginny's looking like Christmas came early and her exams were canceled to boot. I don't think she's ever been more excited about anything in her life.

"I have a couple of shops I definitely think we should look in for clothes, and The Beauty Boutique of course," she says, half to herself and half to us.

"Do you have _any_ choice in any of this?" Harry asks me, smiling a little.

It's the question I've been asking myself all week.

"I think I gave up all my rights when I agreed," I finally answer, and go back to my dinner.

I'm going to need my energy for tomorrow. I have a weird feeling about this day, like it's going to be very long and torturous, much like writing a History of Magic Essay. You feel horrible while you're doing it, but when it's over you feel a hell of a lot better.

I hope that by the end of tomorrow I feel a hell of a lot better about this year.

Because right now, I am having some serious doubts about having an awesome last year.

Ginny has Harry and I downstairs fully dressed and eating breakfast a whole hour before we're allowed to leave for Hogsmeade.

"I just wanted to go over some last-minute things," she tells us as we blearily search for our favorite breakfast foods on a table that looks (for me, at least) a little bit blurry. "Hermione, (it takes me a few tired seconds to remember that that's me), I'm very pleased to let you know that I came up with a slightly easier way for us to pick your look. It'll save us hours of unnecessary and potentially embarrassing shopping."

I don't know how shopping could possibly be embarrassing, but at least she came up with a way to avoid it.

Actually, I'm pretty sure I have a good idea of how shopping could possibly be embarrassing, and visions of me trying on clothing that is entirely too small and looks horrible on me begin to rush through my head.

Eek. I hope I never have to go back to that place again. That bad clothing place in my head.

Just kidding. I don't have a little fashion house of horror in my head, though I'm sure Ginny does. I'm surprised that girl can find her way around her room, it's so stuffed full of clothing and magazines.

Pay attention, moron. She's trying to give you useful information. Remember, this little makeover could make or break your quality of male company this year.

"I just brought few magazines with me, and I thought you could flip through them and just point out looks that you like. That way, we'll have a place to start."

"WheadoIcomin?" Harry mumbles sleepily, half falling asleep into his toast.

Ginny pushes his head up impatiently. I have no idea how she's so awake at 8 in the morning. I've never been a morning person myself, personally feeling rather like murdering all the happy people before noon.

"What did you ask me? I missed it."

"Where do I come in?" Harry repeats a bit more slowly and coherently.

"Oh, not until a bit later. Actually, you can go back to bed if you like, but I want you to join us in Hogsmeade at 10."

Bitch. I don't get to go back to bed. I have to stay awake so I can do weird girly things.

I send Harry silent death-ray looks behind his back as he stumbles out of the Great Hall towards Gryffindor Tower. Lucky ass.

But Harry is now completely off Ginny's radar as of the moment, and I'm forced to abandon my breakfast and take the first step on my frightening journey into Girl World.

An hour later, completely unsuccessful in finding a "look" (not that I entirely grasp the concept) for me (not that Ginny seems the slightest bit disheartened by this weighty setback), the two of us join a large number of students who are gathered in the courtyard, ready to pretend to listen to McGonagall as she lays down The Rules And Regulations Surrounding The Visits To Hogsmeade.

"-and any misconduct will result in a loss of your privilege to visit the village," she finishes after what seems like an eternity to my poor exhausted mind. I'm seriously reconsidering whether or not I have the energy for shopping with Ginny today; that girl is a scary power shopper if ever I've seen one. "You may go."

We dutifully set our backs to Hogwarts along with everyone else and begin the trek to town.

"Where are we going first?"I ask. I might as well muster at least a little enthusiasm about today-after all, Ginny is doing it to help me out.

"Definitely the hair shop," Ginny says. "I'm going to have you try on wigs so we can pick out a good hair color for you and then we'll just dye your real hair that color. Now, tell me, what's been going on with you and the Sex God all this week? You haven't brought him up once."

"Nothing. Nothing's been going on; I hardly ever see him."

Ginny's looking like she finds this hard to believe. "You 'hardly ever see him'? What rubbish is that, Hermione? How often do you hide in your room doing homework because you're afraid he won't think your pajamas are sexy?"

The girl knows me too well.

"No," I say vehemently. Can't let her know she's right and give away the fact that when it comes to the Sex God I'm a total wimp, can I? "We're just both doing homework and stuff. And then that little ho Pansy comes over and-what?"

Ginny's shaking her head sadly.

"Hermione, my darling, how do you think Pansy got the Sex God in the first place?"

A few of the younger students turn around and I suddenly remember that we're walking to Hogsmeade with a good portion of the school and our conversation, if we keep talking in loud voices and yelling out names, will not remain private.

"Shh! Lower your voice, people are looking at us. We need a code name for her too so we can talk and people won't know who we're talking about." I really really don't want this to get out. The last thing I need is a jealous Pansy on the warpath.

"Oh, sorry," Ginny says sheepishly, turning a bit red. "Alright, how do you think the Bitchy Ho got the Sex God in the first place?"

Heh.

"I dunno."

"She's confident, idiot. She's not afraid to put herself out there. She is what she is and she uses it to her advantage. He likes that. And it's not just him, either. All guys like it when a girl puts herself out there for them. It says she's not scared to take a risk and show that she likes him. Guys like confidence. Ask any of them. It's sexy."

Wow. I can't believe I've been spending seventeen years in the Shy Land of the Unsexy along with the rest of the Undesirables. Lovely. Why couldn't Ginny have come along when I was like eight years old and told me this so I could have a bit of a chance to learn it and practice on a few dorks? You know, kind of like lab rats. Then I could have intelligently calculated the exact amount of confidence I would need and apply it to each guy I've ever wanted.

I think that entire thought process only had me prove to myself the thing I've been denying for years: that I really am the Nerd Queen of the Universe.

Spec-fucking-tacular.

"Oh."

By this time, we've reached the village.

I shouldn't really call it a village-it's actually a very busy and prosperous town that plays host to a lot of popular stores and a good number of wizards. I would imagine the reason this is so is because it's close to Hogwarts, which is one of the safest places (and here I'm talking about safe from Muggles) in the wizarding world.

We head straight for the hair shop (which I've never been in, naturally), boringly named Hogsmeade Hair. Inside, the store contains wigs, all manner of hair accessories, and even a small but bustling beauty salon, where a few witches are busy doing hairstyles and manicures.

"Over here," Ginny motions me into the wig section of the store, where a tall, thin, flawless blonde witch in her early twenties (and looking like she just stepped off the pages of Vogue) is conducting several brushes to groom the wigs.

"Do you ladies need any help?" she asks, flashing a dazzling smile at us. I have a fleeting vision of a female Gilderoy Lockhart grinning at me.

"No, thanks, I've got it under control," Ginny says curtly, and the witch walks away, looking slightly offended.

"Way to alienate the help, Ginny," I mutter under my breath, but she ignores me and begins to survey the wigs, pushing past several motherly looking women to get to them.

"Try this one." She hands me a long blonde wig, and I dutifully pull it over my hair.

As I'm making my way towards the mirror to look at myself, I feel a small tug on the hem of my jacket.

_She turned around, a confused and almost defiant look upon her face. He was standing behind her. "I've been looking for you all day," he says before she can speak. "You don't need to change yourself for me. You're beautiful just the way you are." He pulls her in close, placing a rough hand on her soft cheek. He leans in..._

"You look like an ugly version of Paris Hilton," a little girl informs me.

"Um, thanks," I say, and yank the wig off my head. Behind me, Ginny is dying from laughter.

"Take this back." I thrust it into her hands crankily.

"Okay, sorry about that, I didn't think blonde would be your color," she giggles, placing it back upon the mannequin head where it belongs.

"I don't think the Sex God would be attracted to Hermione Barbie Doll. And he especially wouldn't want Hermione the Ugly Paris Hilton," I say waspishly.

"True," Ginny's looking at some darker colors now. "Who is Paris Hilton, anyway?"

"This Muggle celebrity. She's like the slutty party queen of the Muggle world, I guess you could say."

"How about this one?"

We spend about half an hour in the wig shop, watching (and rejecting) me go through Hermione Angry Goth to Hermione Weird Looking Redhead.

Finally, as I'm putting on another wig and trying to think of a nice way to tell Ginny that I'm very bored in here and my hair's getting flat could we please do something else now, I hear a little gasp of happiness from behind me.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, it's perfect! Look look look, go go go!" Ginny shoves a few customers out of the way and steers me to the mirror. "See?"

She's right.

The wig is a honey brown, with a few soft blonde highlights. It looks great. Bloody hell, even I think it looks great.

"It accentuates your skin tone and eyes perfectly! This is awesome! Okay, remember what color it is? Good, me too. Alright, and now to find the dye that matches this color..." She walks over to the hair dye portion of the store, sifting amongst the boxes until she finds the right color. Upon doing so, we pay for our purchase and leave.

"Isn't Harry supposed to meet us sometime soon?" I ask once we're outside, glancing at my watch.

"Yeah, but we have enough time to book it to makeup before we meet him. He's only here to look at clothes and such."

She drags me a little ways down the street to yet another store that seems to be an essential part of Girl World. The pink sign beams down at us: The Beauty Boutique: Magical Makeup for a Magical You!

This store is just as busy as the hair shop, and Ginny is no less pushy. Apparently, she already has a pretty good idea of what she's looking for in here, judging from the fact that she's snatching things off the shelf.

"Okay...mascara, concealer..."

"I already have concealer," I interject indignantly. At least give me credit for the makeup I did bother to buy.

"I know, but this stuff is better and it matches your skin tone better too. Eyeliner, powder, green eyeshadow, purple..."

She goes on listing things to herself, occasionally turning around to squint at me but otherwise not acknowledging my presence for the next fifteen minutes. I wish Harry were here; at least then I'd have someone to talk to and make jokes with instead of milling around like a brainless flobberworm while someone shops for me.

Finally, I hear the magic words, "All done, let's go find Harry!" and I get to leave.

We meet The-Boy-Who-Got-To-Go-Back-To-Bed in front of the Three Broomsticks, which happened to be the only common meeting place we could all agree on. Harry naturally didn't know where any of the shops Ginny wanted him to meet us in were, and Ginny adamantly refused to try and find him in Honeydukes or any other wildly busy place like that. And even though I didn't say this, I don't really want to see the Sex God today, at least not before I'm stunning and beautiful. Even though I really don't think one more glimpse of me looking as I have for the past seven years is going to make much of an impression on him. I'm only an insult pincushion.

At least he knows I exist.

Shut up, loser.

I follow Ginny and Harry towards the part of town where all of the clothing shops are located. Hogsmeade is actually a large enough town to have stores where Muggle clothes are sold: most of the smaller wizard towns don't have that. But I would imagine there's a large enough market for Muggle clothes because the school is nearby and students usually wear them on the weekends and holidays.

God, why does everything in my head either belong in the gutter or in a book?

"We're going here first," Ginny informs me, pointing to a smallish girls' clothing store called Whatever. "I've bought clothing from here before-they have loads of good stuff."

Whatever has more clothes than I would have expected, and Ginny wastes no time in taking several items off the rack and handing them to me.

"Try these and take him," she orders, and I meekly take the clothes from her and drag Harry to the back where the dressing rooms are located. Once I'm safely hidden in a changing cubicle, I actually look down and see what Ginny wants me to wear.

The first thing that meets my (shocked) face is a red corset top with embroidered silver flower designs up and down the front. The only decoration on the back is where the two halves of the corset are held together by a red ribbon that ends in a bow near the bottom.

It's very pretty, but where the FUCK am I going to wear this?

There's only one course of action.

Brave Ginny's anger and protest.

A sudden vision of Mrs. Weasley screaming at Fred and George flashes through my mind.

Am I really willing to see if Ginny inherited Mrs. Weasley's intimidation skills?

I think I'd rather dance in around in front of the Sex God wearing nothing but a tea cozy.

I try on the corset and avoid looking in the mirror. I put it with a pair of dark-washed jeans that Ginny's picked out for me.

You have to look in the mirror, you pussy. If it looks bad, you can always nicely shout out that it doesn't fit and you're not coming out because your right boob just popped out. Okay? Just look.

I look.

Well, at least my right boob isn't popping out.

Actually, to tell you the truth, I've never really tried on this kind of clothing before. More specifically, my parents never took me clothing shopping that often-to be more accurate, I think I've been twice in my life and I clearly remember refusing on my thirteenth birthday to go anywhere public, especially shopping, with my mother again.

Point being, I'm not sure if I look good. Which means there's only one thing for it.

"Um...Harry? Ginny?" I call out, opening the curtain timidly and hiding my body behind it.

"In order for me to give my opinion you're going to have to actually come out from behind the curtain, Hermione," Ginny says to me, sounding exasperated.

Oh, no, I was hoping you had x-ray vision and I wouldn't have to embarrass myself. DUH.

"Is-" I begin to ask if the Sex God or the Bitchy Ho is anywhere in sight, but Ginny cuts me off.

"It's just me and Harry, come OUT, asswipe."

There's no delaying it any longer. I walk out from behind the curtain and wait for the laugh riot to begin.

But, to my surprise, Ginny and Harry don't laugh at all.

"You look great!" Ginny shrieks, clapping her hands together in satisfaction. "What d'you think then Harry?"

Harry smiles weakly. "Um...this is going to come out really bad but...you actually look hot, Herms."

Wow, way to give a backwards compliment dickwad.

But I'll take it. I know what he meant.

With renewed confidence (hell, with actual confidence) I go back into my dressing cubicle and try on two more pairs of jeans and several other shirts, all of which fit me well and get rave reviews from Harry and Ginny.

I let Ginny take the things to the counter because I'd like to remain in the dark on how much money I'm spending on clothes. I'm going to have to make sure I still have that little part-time position at the bookstore because my bank vault at Gringotts is going to have nothing but dust in it after this little shopping spree.

We hit two more stores after that, then head to the Three Broomsticks for lunch. (Harry's looking slightly shell-shocked from the intensity of shopping-Ginny got into a shouting match at the last store we went to with a large witch over who had seen a red halter top first. ("It wouldn't even have fitted her, honestly, I don't know why she bothered to try and take it from me.") For those of you interested in knowing the outcome, Ginny won, hands down. She did inherit Mrs. Weasley's talents after all.)

"This is amazing! We are still completely on schedule and we got more done than I thought we would!" Ginny's exclaiming as Harry and I collapse into a booth. "Now, we only have two more places to go-the dress shop and the shoe store. Then..."

I'm stopped at the two dreaded words:

Dress.

Shop.

I have only been in a dress shop once, and it was pure hell. I'm not even sure I have the balls to relive the memory.

It was the summer before sixth year, and I was shopping with my Muggle friend Chelsea. More accurately, Chelsea was shopping and I was looking for something really good to buy, since I had a very limited amount of money from my summer job. We came across a BCBG Max Azria in town, and Chelsea pulled me inside, saying, "I need a cocktail dress for this big stupid party my parents are having."

I should pause right here, even though you're probably drooling at the thought of a dress from BCBG Max Azria, like the author is, and tell you something about My Muggle Friend Chelsea.

Chelsea is very wealthy, and she has a body that is made to wear dresses. Long legs, long torso, elegant defined collarbone-you get the idea. She's like the feminine version of Draco Malfoy: they're both smart, hot, and rich. Except Chelsea associates with me. That's the only difference I can think of.

Anyway.

"I don't have money or the need for a dress," I protested, feeling ominous doom curling around the place. It made my skin crawl.

"Well I do. Can you just try like one or two with me? Pleeeeease?"

My head nodded yes, even though my gut was screaming, "NO! DON'T DO IT!"

She smiled and began milling around, occasionally choosing a dress off the rack. I did the same, picking two dresses I thought were pretty.

As I was walking back towards the changing rooms, I saw the most beautiful dress ever. It was white, ending around the knees. The top was made of a lacy material, with flower appliques and spaghetti straps. The lower half was a white skirt ending in a lacy design. (A/N: For those of you who read this month's issue of Vogue, my apologies for describing an Oscar de la Renta dress and pretending Max designed it.) I knew in an instant that I had to try it on. I walked over to the mannequin that was wearing it and looked on the rack behind her for my size. 0, 00, 2, 8, 12...ah, 4. Word.

By the time I got back there, Chelsea was already in clad in a beautiful magenta dress, critically examining her flawless reflection. "Ooh, that's pretty," she said, eyeing the white dress as I walked past her towards my own changing cubicle. "Isn't it?" I replied.

I quickly changed out of my clothes. I really wanted to try that dress on and look just as stunning as Chelsea for once.

"These dresses seem to be made a bit small," she called out to me but, like a greedy fool who's about to screw two gorgeous prostitutes instead of one but he doesn't know they have STDs...no, wait. That came out wrong.

Like a greedy...

You know what, forget I said that.

My point is, I was a moron. Four was always my size. It always fit perfectly. Why should this time be any different?

I was so giddy with the thought of trying on a $600 dress and looking stunning that I ignored her.

I successfully pulled the dress over my head and fixed it around myself. It felt a little tight, but not enough to bother me.

I walked out and the two of us spent 15 silly minutes in front of the mirrors, examining our reflections and acting like, well, girls. Finally, after the salesgirl had given us several dirty looks that told us exactly what she thought of playing around in expensive clothing, we retreated to our personal changing rooms.

Face flushed, eyes still dancing, I began to take the dress off, not knowing my mortal peril.

I got the skirt bunched up around my waist so I wouldn't rip it, and then, trouble started.

I began to pull it over my head, but, for some reason, it was giving me a hard time. I frowned, tugged again, and, when it still wouldn't come off, I was forced to face the horrible truth.

I was stuck in the dress.

Stuck in a $600 beautiful piece of clothing.

Oh Holy Jesus.

I was at a loss for what to do.

"Chelsea!" I stage-whispered, leaning out of the cubicle just enough so that only my face could be seen. There she was, modeling another dress. She looked up at the sound of her name, and came forward obediently towards me.

"I'm stuck," I hissed.

"You're..." her eyes widened. "Oh, shit. Um, okay, hold on, let me get dressed."

She was back so quickly it was almost like fucking magic.

"Okay, let me in." I stood back. The salesgirl was eyeing us oddly. Probably thought we were lesbians or something and about to get it on in the dressing room.

Sorry, I only do that with Draco.

Or, I would only do that with Draco.

"Turn around," Chelsea said, "And start talking really loudly."

"What am I supposed to say?"

"I dunno, just start bitching about how you think you look too fat in this dress."

"Kay, er...Ohmygod, look at my hips. They're the size of Australia in this thing!"

"That's it," Chelsea whispered encouragingly. "Keep going."

"And, ugh, ick, I have such a flabby stomach, I think we should go to the gym and-"

RIP!

Chelsea expertly ripped the dress along the seam down my back, and I was free.

"Keep talking!" she hissed.

"Girls, is everything alright in there?" the salesgirl was asking nosily from just outside the door.

"Yeah, ah, fuck, I just ripped the hem of my jeans," Chelsea replied.

"Okay, get dressed," she said, and began arranging the dress so it would properly hang on a hanger just long enough for us to escape.

I got dressed as quickly as possible and helped her hide the dress in the next stall by pushing it over the barrier.

"Let's go."

And we ran out of the store like madwomen and never went back.

And that, darlings, is why I haven't been dress shopping since.

"Earth to Hermione, come back, beam yourself back down from your private planet-ah, there we go. What do you want to eat, troll-eyes?" Ginny's saying.

"I don't think we need to go dress shopping today," I blurt. Me and my big fat mouth.

"That's not on the menu," the waitress says to us, giggling a little at her own stupid cliche joke.

"Um, I'll have the spotted dick with the side of mashed potatoes," I tell her, and she gathers up our menus and walks away.

"I didn't know Madam Rosmerta hired help," Ginny says quietly, leaning forward a bit.

"Should've told Ron," Harry says. "I'm sure he would've jumped at the chance to be working with her."

We all laugh. Ron's longtime crush on Madam Rosmerta is quite well known throughout Gryffindor Tower, and a lot of people take the mickey out of him for it whenever they get the chance.

Lunch passes by very pleasantly, with the three of us just talking and laughing at each other's jokes.

It's almost enough to make me feel better about dress shopping.

But not quite.

Once lunch is done and paid for, we leave the Three Broomsticks. "Come on, this way," Ginny motions to us.

"Are we still going dress shopping?" I ask nervously.

"Of course," Harry responds. "Do you think a little thing little someone not wanting to do something is enough to stop Ginny?"

"Oh, shove it," Ginny tells him, laughing, and he hugs her playfully.

Ugh. The singleness you feel when your friends are busy flirting with each other is enough to make me want to vomit.

By the time we reach the dress shop (Lady In Red), there's a knot in my stomach the size of Texas. Not only do I now have a slight fear of dress shops, the Sex God and the Bitchy Ho are somewhere in town and the mere thought of them watching me be humiliated is a major turnoff to even touching the door handle of Lady In Red.

Ginny, unfortunately, does not know how to take no for an answer and drags me unwillingly inside.

"Just relax," she says soothingly. "I want you to take this dress...and this one...and this one...and go back and try them on. Okay?"

I feel like I'm on the operating table about to have quadruple bypass surgery and the anesthesia hasn't kicked in yet and they're telling me that even though there's only a 50 chance I'll live I just need to relax anyway.

Harry's still flirting with Ginny, so I head back there by myself. Does they seriously think nobody's noticed them flirting all the time. I mean, you haven't been there, but they've been pulling this since fifth year. Come on, just go out already. We've all had enough.

You see? I'm already a bitch, and we've been in the dress shop for about five minutes.

There are only two other people in the changing area when I get back there, and they're both closeted in a stall together. The thick curtains go all the way down to the floor, so I can't see their feet or really identify their voices.

It's just as well. Easier to pretend there's no one back here to witness my humiliation except for me.

I examine the dresses Ginny's chosen for me. The first one is a red prom-ish dress with a halter top; it's pretty in a plain sort of way. Ever since the corset top Ginny's apparently decided that red is indeed a color I can wear, because a lot of the things she picked out for me after that were red.

Seriously, just pick the red jumpsuit and get it over with.

The second dress is a shorter cocktail dress with numerous ruffles and petticoats. I don't really know about that one, I'm not sure if I'm trendy enough to be able to pull it off.

The final dress makes my poor little heart stop.

It's green.

Bright green, actually, with a soft pink petticoat and a large pink jewel thing in the middle of the part that covers my boobs.

Did Ginny go temporarily blind?

What the hell is this thing?

"Um, Ginny..." I poke my head out of the curtain and spot Harry and Ginny playing some sort of poking game where the point seems to be to make Ginny shriek and give Harry an involuntary lap dance.

She looks up, face flushed.

You should be embarrassed. Not going out with him even though you want to and then lecturing other people about confidence and putting it out there. Hypocrite.

"Yeah?" she asks, smoothing back her hair a bit.

"What is this green mess you picked out?"

"Wha-oh, the green dress? It's different. I dunno, just try it."

Feeling quite annoyed, I pull the green dress over my head and look at myself in the mirror.

Ew.

I poke my head back out. "This looks like crap, I'm not coming out."

"Let me see." Ginny rises and walks towards me. "Really quick, okay?"

"Alright."

I am losing every battle today.

To be more honest, I'm not even fighting. I'm just giving up before I start. Yay, I surrender. Harsh language makes me want to run and I hide. Cower cower, whimper whimper.

Yeah, even I dunno what that was all about.

Anywho.

Huffing very loudly (just to make sure she knows I'm annoyed), I walk out of the changing stall and stand before Ginny in all my green-mess glory.

And then, my worst nightmare happens.

"Trying to transform into a leprechaun, Granger?" a drawling voice asks from behind me. "I think you're about 6 months too early."

Ohmygod.

I look at Ginny, silently asking her with my eyes if that really is the Sex God behind me. She just stares back at me. We're both frozen, like deer in the headlights of an oncoming Mack truck.

Ginny's the first to recover.

"Piss off, Malfoy," she says.

Her voice shakes me out of my stupor and I turn around as well. To my horror, standing right there, is the Sex God, casually leaning against the wall...looking gorgeous...oh man, how does he effortlessly look so hot? No, earth to Hermione, come back, you're wearing a dress made for a leprechaun's wife, not a good time to fall into the gutter again...

And then, to make matters worse, the Bitchy Ho is critically examining her reflection in the mirror, looking stunning in the same little black number I have hung up in my own changing stall. She doesn't even say anything to me, just gives a snort of derision. I'm obviously so beneath her on the fashion level that I'm not even worth words.

Great.

I grab Ginny by the wrist and pull her into my changing stall, which is greeted by the call, "No sex in the changing rooms, Granger, you'll have to help yourself" from the Sex God, and a "Shut it, asswipe" from Harry.

Even better. Now he thinks I'm a lesbian.

I'll never get to shag him.

"We have to leave. Right now," I say firmly to Ginny, getting dressed as fast as possible. She nods, obviously feeling too bad about my embarrassment to argue.

"Make sure the coast is clear, I don't want them to see us run out of here," I add. Might as well avoid Mega Humiliation: Part Two if I can help it.

She looks out of the curtain cautiously, then turns around. "They left," she says, and with that, the two of us run out of there, leaving Harry to figure out what's going on and follow.

That's the second time I've run out of a dress shop.

I swear, I'm never going dress shopping again. I don't care how badly I need one. I'll make it myself.

And that's saying something, since I have no domestic talent whatsoever.

"Don't worry, we only have shoe shopping left, and then it's back to the school," Ginny says, trying to comfort me.

I'm just trying to get my breathing back on track.

He's never going to like me now.

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Well that's all for this chapter, guys! Sorry, but the bold button on my toolbar seems to have run off with the italics and underline buttons, so regular type will just have to do.

Read and review!

Carrie


	13. One Way Ticket to Hell

1**Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays and Happy New Year to everyone! As my little belated present to you, I am taking time out of my busy schedule of sleeping and eating chocolate cake to update for you. Hopefully everyone got at least one good thing for Christmas, I myself got tickets to see Coldplay in March and I'm very excited. And now, on to the thank yous. Before -CuteAnimeBoysMakeMePant- asks, I have provided Christmas cookies as a treat. So knock yourselves out.**

**sugar n spice 522: It's okay. I only own 2 dresses as well. Same reason. Thanks for the lovely reviews!**

**Glamour Princess: Thank you, and I will.**

**remy-moon: I'm glad you liked it. Cookie?**

**youngwriter56: Thanks for the compliment, and I hope you keep liking it.**

**xbl0ndi3: Well actually I just base what Hermione goes through on what I went through. She's basically a story version of me, and all the little commentary I would love to give on my life comes out in the story. I'm glad you like her. Have a cookie.**

**Lexie the Dreamer: Lol. I'm happy you can relate to Hermione. And I'm glad you still like my silly little story.**

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**Pshycodemented: Yeah, me too. A lot of the stuff I put in here I don't make up. It really happened. Glad you like.**

**-CuteAnimeBoysMakeMePant-: Lol. And yeah. The opening of the chapter tells you exactly what Draco and every other guy on the planet thinks about two girls together. Thank you for reviewing darlin.**

**GreenWeirdo: Well I'm not sure what I can do about before Christmas but how about before the New Year, okay?**

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**SophiaB: I'm pretty sure I've read it. My sister's more into those books than I am. Thank you for the review.**

**oOoOoO.just shove it: OKAY! I WILL! Lol.**

**frozenroses: I'm actually being very careful to make sure my style doesn't change. And yes, nothing goes right. The door carvings still hate her.**

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**Disclaimer: The works. No need to waste space. Let's just get reading and know what I do and do not own in our heads.**

**0000000000**

"Ginny," I say as the full gravity of our situation hits me, "he thinks I'm a lesbian."

Ginny doesn't even break stride. "So? All guys are turned on by girl-on-girl action. It's a universally known fact. I can't believe-well, you know what, I can."

"Shut up," I say waspishly. We're slowly making our way towards the shoe store, burdened by shopping bags. Technically, Harry's really the only one "burdened" by shopping bags, so we're walking slowly so he doesn't get left behind. Or swallowed by my new wardrobe. Either is possible.

I knew he'd come in handy today.

"Anyway, that's not even the point," I continue. She really needs to understand the predicament we're in now. "All the makeovers and sexy clothes in the world are never going to make a difference if he thinks I'm not interested in his dick. Which I am. Highly."

"He'll forget about it," Ginny reassures me. "Enough important things will happen that he'll totally forget that we were in the changing stall together. Even though I don't really know why he made such a big deal out of it-girls pull shit like that all the time."

"He made a big deal because it's me," I snap. "He likes to make fun of me, remember? That's why we're doing this whole makeover business. So he can see that I see myself differently from how all those other little fucks see me."

"Relax," Ginny soothes. "We'll get it all straightened out. Come on, the shoe store is this way."

The shoe store is what would happen if Mahnolo Blahnik, Chuck Taylor, Nike, and all the other shoe companies merged into one really big company. Surprisingly, one of the most popular Muggle products in the wizarding world is shoes. Take Snape, for instance, who wears Armani shoes that look like they belong on the feet of Brad Pitt. McGonagall, naturally, is more of a Bass loafer person.

Shut up. I happen to like shoes. They're the only part of my wardrobe that I'm actually proud of.

"Ginny,"I say as we wander the aisles, "I have so many shoes that I had to magically expand my closet just to fit them all. Why are we here?"

Truth be told, I'm not really protesting her decision to come here. But I've already seen about 6 pairs of shoes I would have no problem taking home with me, and my budget is under too much strain to give in to my obsession. I'm like a fat kid who just walked into a cake shop and was told everything was half off.

"I just wanted to find a pair of shoes that you can dance in," Ginny mumbles, picking up a pair of Nike Uptowns. "Try these."

"Those are sneakers. And also not exactly my style," I say bluntly. I've only ever seen those sneakers on the feet of rappers and the like. And let's face it, I'm not really cut out for the whole rap scene.

"I just want to see what they look like."

"Fine," I say, and kick off my black flip flops. I pull the Uptowns on, stand up, and walk over to the mirror.

Ever since I can remember, I've always wanted to be a gangster.

Yo homie, wassup? You look mad fly in that robe, yo. I can't find any bling to match mine, but I'm lookin bro. Da hood got mah back, you know what I'm sayin son?

I am so white.

"Da hood" would've shot me in the face 12 times by now if they heard me trying to talk like that.

Then they'd spit on my bullet-hole-ridden body.

I'll stick with the converse and Vans I already have.

"They look ridiculous." I toss them back to Ginny. "Like I said, not my style."

We leave the shoe store without buying anything. As we head back up to the school, I remember the other errand I have to run.

The book store. To see if I'll be able to restore my much-depleted funds. So I can go back and buy those 6 pairs of shoes.

One good thing about buying shoes in the wizarding world-they never run out of stock and they can always conjure up your size.

"I gotta check something out at the book store," I inform Harry and Ginny. "I'll catch up with you guys-I don't know how long this is going to take."

The book store, as it turns out, is more than happy to take me back.

"You were such a wonderful worker," Helena Nicholson, the dreamy-eyed owner, is telling me as she walks me to the door. "We'll take your help whenever we can get it."

I don't know what all this "we" crap is about. It's just her and this big fat witch who seems to have an endless supply of doughnuts in her pocket working there. Honestly, that woman sleeps, eats, and breaths jelly and Boston creme. It almost makes you never want another doughnut again, and you didn't even eat one. You just sat there watching her eat them and got sick.

Back on track. Come on asshole, stop insulting other people for 5 seconds. You need this job. Almost as badly as you need this makeover. And a good shag, courtesy of the Sex God.

"I'll have to talk to Professor Dumbledore," I say courteously, hearing chewing noises on my left and trying not to look in that direction. "I'll ask him to help me set up some kind of schedule and then I'll send it to you by owl post."

"Lovely, dear, lovely," Helena beams. "See you then, dear."

I nod and smile and make my way out the door and back up to the castle. Let the makeover begin.

I reach the wooden doors, expecting to see Harry and Ginny waiting outside and complaining at me for being so slow the minute I come into view.

But when I get there, there's nobody waiting outside. There aren't even any abandoned shopping packages, which would be a telltale sign that The-Boy-Who-Is-Sexually-Deprived and my hypocrite friend are making out in a dark corner somewhere.

"Are you coming in or not?" The obnoxious voice of one of the door carvings (still have no idea which is which) pulls me out of my thoughts and back down to the harsh reality that is my life.

"Um, yeah," I say. What the fuck happened to Harry and Ginny? Was I supposed to go to Gryffindor Tower or something instead? But, I mean, it'd make more sense to do the makeover here, right?

"You need to say the password, dimwit," the other door carving snaps at me.

"If I say this lick me till I scream."

The doors swing open.

Honestly, whoever thought wooden carvings would be obnoxious?

"Bitches," I mutter as I walk into the Heads' common room.

"Did you hear what she just said!"

"I swear I'm going to shove my flute up her ass by the end of the month! I'll shove it so far up her ass she'll be able to brush her teeth with it!"

"You should, there's no call for her to-"

Their voices are cut off by the doors closing and a very familiar drawling voice.

"Have you pissed off those bloody doors again, Granger?" An irritated looking Draco Malfoy is sitting on the couch, flipping through the pages of a textbook on his lap and occasionally making a few notes here and there.

I'd like to sit on his lap. I wish I were that textbook.

"I sincerely wish you'd stop doing that; they're continually disturbing my studies. Either make friends with them or stop going out."

"Have you seen Harry and Ginny?" I ask, choosing to completely ignore his comments.

"Pothead and Weaslette? They made so much fucking racket I finally had to get up and let them in. I think they went up to your room," he replies crankily before going back to his book.

They went up to my room? Okaaaaay. Why am I afraid?

Possibly because they've been flirting all day?

I approach the door of my room apprehensively. What if-

You're being ridiculous and paranoid. They wouldn't. It's your room.

Taking a deep breath to calm myself, I open the door.

The sight that greets me is one I could have lived to a ripe old age and died without.

"What the-?"Harry says in surprise, falling on the floor. Ginny shrieks and tries desperately to find her clothes. I'm too shocked to have any decency and close the door. I just stand there staring, open-mouthed, while they scurry around picking up their clothes and turning them right-side out.

I can't believe this.

And in MY bed, nonetheless.

Assholes.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing!" My brain finally manages to get my vocal chords in working order again and, since this is what I've been thinking in my head, it's the first thing to come out of my mouth. "I have to sleep on those sheets!" Ah yes. Two very obvious, but very appropriate, things to say in this situation. Faintly I hear laughter coming from somewhere behind me and realize that the Sex God must've caught on. Well. At least somebody seems to find this amusing.

"Sorry Hermione," says Harry, sheepishly fixing his glasses. "We just..." But apparently even he doesn't know how or why it happened, because he doesn't bother to finish his sentence and rushes out of the dormitory.

Hopefully Ginny has a bit more of a vocabulary to explain to me what's going on.

"Sorry Hermione," she begins, and I cut her off with, "So I've heard."

"We were up here because Malfoy was downstairs, and Harry refused to sit with him, you know how they hate each other, and we were sitting on the bed and it was all awkward and Harry asked me if I wanted to listen to some music and I said yes but I didn't know how to work your..stereo, I think he said...and, anyway, well he said he did so he turned it on and it was playing this nice soft music-" she waves her hands towards the stereo (which is still playing), attempting to recreate the mood for me.

I feel myself beginning to soften a little. I suppose when you're just sitting around with someone you like and there's a bed available (or any flat surface), Bright Eyes can have that effect on you.

I swear, sometimes wizards piss me off. How could they NOT know who Bright Eyes is? How could they live without the brilliance (and, if I may, total hotness) of Conor Oberst? Seriously, if I thought I had the talent to dream big, I'd go after him.

But I suppose, in my position, going after the Sex God is pretty big. Hm. Imagine getting both of them...

_Two pairs of strong callused hands pulled her down on the bed. She sighed lightly, reaching out to caress the faces of Conor and Draco. They smiled down at her, then returned to the sides of her body they were paying attention to. Each of them began to kiss down their respective side, occasionally pausing to kiss and attend to each other. Hermione smiled to herself as she reached out for them both..._

Okay. No. Come back.

Ginny doesn't seem to have noticed that I fell into the gutter and just crawled out, because she's still rambling on.

"-and he looked at me and he was like I really like you Ginny and I was like I really like you too Harry you know I've liked you for a while and you always said I should just go for it remember so I did and then he kissed me and we kind of just fell back and it was your bed and I'm really sorry and don't worry we didn't get anything on your sheets cause we didn't really get that far and honestly Hermione if it was you and Draco and you guys liked each other you probably would've done the same thing."

I'll have to give her that.

"Okay," I say, walking into my room and shutting the door. "Just next time use the floor, okay?"

Ginny nods happily, then scampers over to the shopping bags and begins unpacking my makeover supplies and laying them out on my desk, which she is presumably going to use as a vanity.

"We're gonna do your hair first...and then, I'm gonna teach you how to do your makeup," she informs me brightly as I search through my selection of cds for something more appropriate for the situation. Bright Eyes is a little too mellow for a makeover. Finally, I settle on The Clash and pop the cd in. By the time I've hit play and all that jazz, Ginny's set up her little station.

Yay. Now time to be pinched, pulled, and shoved in all directions as we go through a little home version of _Nip/Tuck_ (though much less painful and hopefully not involving surgery.)

But I'm sure the people on that show never got to rock the casbah while they were getting remodeled.

Ginny shoves me into the chair so hard I'm sure my ass bones are now somewhere up around my shoulders. She opens up the hair dye box and pulls out...a piece of paper.

Wait a minute. As far as I know, hair dye kits come with rubber gloves, plastic bottles, and a shitload of instructions.

"Where's the rest of the stuff?" I ask, peering into the box. That whole big box just for one tiny slip of paper? It's like how they make those big potato chip bags but only fill them up halfway.

"The rest of what stuff?" Ginny asks, closely examining the piece of paper.

"You know...all the stuff that comes with a hair dye kit. Like the coloring and everything."

Ginny looks at me strangely for a moment, then begins to laugh.

"Wizarding dye kits aren't like muggle dye kits," she explains carefully. "This piece of paper is the spell I have to do to color your hair. And you won't get roots or anything. But you have to keep this paper somewhere because when you're tired of your color you have to say the counterspell."

Oh. Cool.

"Okay," I say, feeling somewhat relieved.

"Hold still," Ginny instructs, aiming her wand at my head.(I close my eyes. I don't know about anyone else, but I'm feeling slightly nervous. Is this how people always feel before they dye their hair?) "_Hairus Colorus! Honey Brown!_"

I open my eyes, not exactly sure of what I'm about to see. What if Ginny did the spell wrong and my hair is an irreversible puke green?

"Wow," Ginny breathes. Her words give me confidence, and I open my eyes.

Wow is right.

Bloody hell, I look good.

My hair is still the same shoulder-length, layered, crazy ass mess it was before, but the color is quite pretty. The golden highlights shooting through my hair set off the color, and the whole thing sets off my eyes (which are also a honey brown) and my skin tone.

"Well, that's done," Ginny says, looking relieved. She puts the paper in the desk drawer nearest her, and then dumps the bag filled with makeup all across the desk. "And now, I'm going to teach you how to do your makeup."

"I already know how to do my makeup," I say, trying not to be offended. I know she doesn't mean it in an offensive way. It's just hard to have people acknowledge the fact that even though you're a girl you can barely act like one. And as far as I've seen, being able to do makeup is an essential part of being a girl. Apparently, boys like you better when you paint your face and look like a more artful version of a clown.

"You know how to do the bare minimum of makeup," Ginny corrects. "And that's okay most of the time, I mean, I really don't bother with more than mascara on school days and concealer whenever I need it-" (which is never, I can vouch for her there)-"but every once in a while if you get dressed up a little more makeup doesn't hurt, either."

"Yeah, but those occasions are very rare," I say, not bothering to mention that so far in my lovely 17 years of life said occasions have been never. I mean, I really don't count those boring doctor parties my parents used to drag me to. The youngest person there was about 20 years older than me, and the entire point of those little get-togethers seemed to be to give the adults an excuse to get wasted and eat food cooked by a professional and then insist they were sober enough to drive home.

The joy of being the offspring of two highly respected dentists. Oh, will the benefits never stop.

"And, since I never really go anywhere special without you, and never will because I'm highly incompetent on my own, you can just come up here and do my makeup for me," I conclude. What I just said about feeling incompetent on my own is perfectly true. For some reason, I feel much better about social situations if I'm accompanied by a girl I know well.

"You're probably right," Ginny says. "So I guess all that's left to do is clean out your closet and burn all those horribly embarrassing items someone had the nerve to call clothing, eh?"

I smile in agreement. She just spoke the words I've been waiting to hear all bloody day.

Two hours later, we're slumped exhaustedly against the side of my bed, observing the giant pile of hideous clothing in front of us. Most of it reeks of closet and mothballs, telltale signs that many items never saw daylight.

"What possessed you to buy things like this?" Ginny asks, half joking, picking up a blue and yellow striped sweater with a big knitted snowflake on the right shoulder. She wrinkles her nose in disgust at the thing and chucks it back into the pile.

"I didn't buy that. My grandmother did. And she cut the tags off so I couldn't return it," I explain. "My parents think that if a guy really likes a girl, he won't notice her appearance at all. He'll be attracted to her for...non-superficial reasons."

"Bollocks," Ginny cuts in.

I love this girl.

"That's what I said. But they never listened to me and the few times I tried to go shopping I wanted to lay down behind my mother's back tires by the end of the day. And hence, I'm stuck with all..._this_."

"All this," just to make it perfectly clear, is 17 years' worth of bad clothing. So bad, in fact, that if this were the afterlife and Pansy Parkinson was God, I'd be in Hell.

"Well, shall we get on with disposing it, then?" Ginny asks, looking over at me. I smile, pull my wand out from beside me, wave it at the pile of clothing, and transfigure it into a pile of dirt.

With one quick swish and a _"Scourgify!"_ Ginny cleans the dirt away.

We both sit for a moment in silence, and then Ginny says with a grin, "Well then, I guess we'd better get ready for dinner."

By the way she's dressed me, I can see Ginny's planning to show me off at dinner and let everyone (especially the Sex God and probably the Bitchy Ho) see how good-looking a little bookworm Mudblood can be.

I'm wearing a light grey sweater with a low neck and dark-washed jeans, along with a black belt studded by grommets and my old ratty pair of black Converse. She's straightened my hair and helped me put on eyeliner (most of which went something like this: "Okay...you put it down here on your eye..." "Ow! Fuck!""No, not like that, see, you just poked yourself in the bloody eye, you masculine bint!"), along with some black mascara.

Right now, she's poking around my room and her purse for some "appropriate jewelry."

"I know I have a necklace in here somewhere..."

I'm fiddling with a hole in my sneaker when a thought strikes me.

"Hey, Gin? You remember how when we were in the shoe store you were looking for shoes I could dance in?"

She grunts an affirmative, since she's currently fighting with her compact to get it out of her bag and it's obviously too much effort to say anything.

"Well, I was just curious...why do I need shoes to dance in?"

She stops rummaging at this and looks up at me.

"Just in case we need to put my backup plan in action," she says finally, as if this vague answer cleared up everything and I should consider myself dutifully enlightened.

"What backup plan? What in the bleeding hell are you talking about?"

"In case the makeover alone doesn't do it for the Sex God," she says exasperatedly. "Duh."

Duh yourself, asshole.

But wait.

That doesn't sound good.

I'll have to go through more crap?

"You sound like you don't think all that shit I went through today is going to help me out at all."

"Aha! Found it," she says, totally ignoring me and holding up a black choker. "Here, put this on. And it's not that all of this was for nothing. It's just that to get a guy like the Sex God who already has the gorgeous, perfect girlfriend, magically turning good-looking overnight is not going to make him want to go out with you. You're going to have to show him a whole special side of yourself if you want him to dump her. I'm not saying change yourself, just bring out other...latent qualities I know have to be in there somewhere."

Apparently, I just bought a one-way ticket to hell.

**000000000**

**And thus is the end of another lovely chapter. I hope you all enjoyed it and as a little aside, I did not make up that whole snowflake sweater situation. My ex boyfriend got a sweater one Christmas that looked that exactly like that. It was given to him by his grandmother, and she cut the tags off so he couldn't return it.**

**Well, review please lovelies.**

**Reviews make me want to keep writing.**

**Do it.**

**Carrie**


	14. The Debut

1**Many thanks to all my reviewers! I'm sorry I didn't do individual thanks but I was having some problems uploading the document.**

**Le Disclaimer: I own nothing. I can't even speak French.**

**0000000000**

"Ready?" Ginny asks brightly, smoothing her green tank top and examining an imaginary pimple in the mirror.

I hate it when girls do that. The ones with perfect complexions, I mean. They look in the mirror and whine and moan over some imaginary zit or how they're "breaking out." If they want to see some real breaking out, they can come and examine my face right before I get the red tide of death. Now _those _are some ass-kicking zits. And they're real, too.

Anyway.

"As I'll ever be," I reply. I don't know why, but I'm feeling a kind of nervous anticipation. I have to walk through our common room to get to the door, so the Sex God is going to see me first. Will he say anything? Will he totally ignore me? Will he jump on me and proclaim his everlasting love and his need to shag right away? Well as long as he doesn't rip my new clothes in his haste, I'm perfectly alright with that arrangement.

"Come on slowpoke," Ginny calls. She's already halfway out the door. I grab my purse and hurry after her, apprehensively waiting for the Sex God's reaction when I get out the door.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnd...(drumroll please)...

He's not there.

Crap.

Stop drumroll. My big debut has been postponed until I get to the Great Hall.

Well, it's okay. I don't mind if everyone sees.

_Silence filled the Great Hall as she slowly entered. The only sound came from her right; the sound of a chair being pushed across the floor. Two hundred heads turned expectantly as he walked towards her._

"_Hermione," he breathed, his eyes alight as he drank in her beauty._

_Honey brown met grey as she turned to look at him. "Draco?" she asked, looking slightly surprised. "What is it?"_

_He stopped a few inches away from her, gazing upon her in adoration._

"_There are no words that can describe how beautiful you look tonight."_

_And with that declaration, he closed the gap between them and kissed her with a passion and ardor none had seen in him before. The kiss was soft at first, but then..._

"OY! HERMIONE!"

"Yeah," I say, pulling myself out of my perfect alternate universe. You know, the one where all my fantasies come true.

"You there?" Ginny teases, smiling at me. "We're gonna pass the mark for fashionably late if we don't leave for dinner now." She stops and looks around the common room as if she's seeing it for the first time. "The Sex God isn't here?"

Way to catch on, Gin.

"Nope."

Evil, Sadistic Being Who Wants To Keep The Sex God Away From Me- 1

Me, Poor, Innocent, Victimized Hermione, Joke Of The Universe_- _0

Wait a sec.

Fashionably late?

That means...

"You want us to walk into the Great Hall after everyone else is seated?" I ask in horror.

Normally, this would be fine, but with my heightened nerves today, I don't think I can handle it.

There is too much room for disaster here.

_She strode confidently into the Great Hall, smiling brightly. She didn't notice the loose flagstone until..._

_WHAM!_

_She hit the ground like a garbage bag of vegetable soup chucked from the top of the Empire State Building. She struggled to peel herself off the floor, at the same time feeling a blush creeping up her face. There was dead silence for a moment, and then two hundred voices exploded into laughter. She looked up in panicked humiliation. Up at the front of the hall, Dumbledore was banging his goblet on the table and gasping for air as he roared with laughter. Snape's wine shot out of his nose as he dissolved into giggles._

What a sickening sight. Please, make it stop Doctor.

And yeah, fuck the fashionably late thing, I think I'll stay up here like a pussy and starve to death.

Maybe I'll do some homework.

Ginny thinks differently. She gives me a disgusted look that clearly states that her opinion of me at the moment is quite low and drags me out of the Heads' dormitory and down into the Great Hall.

Luckily for my poor, fraying nerves, we walk in with a few stragglers. I breathe a sigh of relief. The big solo debut I was so greatly fearing is now out of the question.

This won't be nearly as bad as I thought. Now all I have to do is catch the eye of the Sex God. I sneak a glance towards the Slytherin table as Ginny leads me over to the Gryffindor table, presumably to show me off to everyone. His Royal Sexiness is laughing about something with Pansy, who's dressed in the simplest of simple outfits (t-shirt and jeans) and is still managing to radiate Fabulous Waves.

And it's not even nice girly girly cutesy look-at-my-boobs-stick-out t-shirt and jeans. It's shitty if-you-don't-like-it-suck-my-dick t-shirt and jeans.

And Vogue would still hire her in about 30 nanoseconds. Even dressed like that.

She must have it genetically installed or something. Effortless good looks.

No, seriously, while we're on the subject of Pansy, I really need to rant a little.

She's really into fashion design, right? To the point of making her own clothes and creating shirts out of Twizzlers and cardboard boxes. She wears every style of clothing, from preppy to punk to goth to edgy high fashion. She walks around in the most ridiculous getups sometimes, and the sick thing is she still manages to pull it off. Like, okay, one day, I'm minding my own business in the Great Hall, just reading or whatever, and in comes Pansy Parkinson, wearing this little plaid miniskirt and this big ass shaggy black sweater with matching boots. Now, I couldn't pull that off in a million years. I wouldn't get much further than my bedroom door before I got embarrassed and nervous about what people would say and changed.

But not only had she made it out of her bedroom door, people were also complimenting her and asking her where she got her clothes. If I had worn that, I would be arrested by the Fashion Police for endangering the public and causing people's eyes to melt out of their heads.

We squeeze in with the other seventh years (Ginny thankfully remembers my recent difficulties with Ron-he's across the table and down a few people, just out of Bother-Hermione Range.) Parvati and Lavender immediately start their girlish squeaking ("OH MY GAWD, Herms, your HAIR! It looks AWESOME!") accompanied by petting me, rather like a pair of feminine baboons.

Ginny's no help.

"Doesn't she look great?" the redhead's gushing. "Yeah, I helped her out. Look, we added highlights..."

insert more grooming here as we search for highlights

Can no one see how uncomfortable I am? I mean, I don't mind compliments, but the only fingers I want running through my hair are the Sex God's as he screams my name in sexual ecstasy.

Maybe if I give Ginny a few warning looks, she'll stop the gushing and we can go back to normal dinner conversation.

Warning look, warning look. Shut up, Ginny.

She's not looking at me.

I try sending laser warning eyes into the back of her head.

She doesn't turn around.

Laser vision is obviously faulty. Must get that checked.

Time for some vocal intervention.

"Seamus, doesn't Hermione look gorgeous?"

Oh. Crap. No, she did not just say that. I can tell by the shocked I-can't-believe-you-asked-me-that-while-I'm-eating look on Seamus's face that he thinks this is as awkward as I do. I kind of feel bad for him. He either says I look great and looks like he's interested in me (and remember, to him, I'm Ron's crush, which means he'll have to worry about encountering Ron's notoriously flying fists later), or he doesn't say anything, thereby insulting me (which means no more homework help.)

I need to put a stop to this.

"Hey guys, have you ever thought about what song you'll be listening to when you die?"

WHAT! Of all the conversation topics that could have come out of my mouth, I have to say that? What the hell? I couldn't have said, "So how about this weather?" or "I think the stick up Snape's ass has gotten bigger and grown spikes over the summer, what do you guys think?"?

Thankfully, Harry catches on to what I'm doing.

I guess when you've broken numerous rules and done a lot of highly publicized traumatic things, you become a master at the art of Changing the Subject.

I've been around Harry exercising said art a lot, and I've picked up one very important thing:

When in doubt, say something absurd.

I win full points on this one.

"Yeah, it's like you're in the car and you're listening to the radio and all of a sudden Cher comes on and at that moment you crash the car," Harry says. I shoot him a very very grateful look, which he acknowledges with a slight nod of his head.

At this point, Ginny's caught on.

It's about time.

"Or like the one and only time you're listening to John Denver some Death Eater walks in and just Avadas you."

There is general laughter at that comment, and we are back in business.

Between mouthfuls of mashed potatoes, I stealthily glance over at the Slytherin table.

"Stop looking over there!" Ginny hisses at me.

Apparently, not stealthily enough.

"I'll look. I'll tell you who's looking,"she says with a certain air of finality.

After a few minutes of listening to my own chewing without a word from her, I can't take it anymore.

"Is anyone looking?"

"Um," Ginny stalls, stuffing corn into her mouth. I can tell by the way she's um-ing and stuffing elephant-sized mouthfuls of food into her mouth that the answer she's going to give me is not the one I want to hear, which would be, "Yeah, the Sex God's been staring at you all during dinner."

"Yeah, ummm...Neville's been staring at you quite strangely for a while."

Oh. Great.

"Has HE looked over here at all?" Let's cut to the chase here.

"No, sorry. But Ron's been looking at you too. And Terry Boot from Ravenclaw."

Nope nope nope.

"I wouldn't be surprised if one of them says something to you after dinner," Ginny concludes.

Lovely.

I eat the rest of my dinner in total paranoia.

What the fuck am I going to say to them? "No, sorry, I'm waiting for the Slytherin Prince to take me in his arms and whisk me away."

Yeah. No.

After dinner is just like Ginny predicted. Just as I'm about to get up from the bench and make like the Roadrunner for the door, someone grabs my arm and says, "Hermione, wait!"

Oh Holy Jesus. Okay. Calm face. Get it together.

I am the calm little white light floating at the center of the universe.

I am the Zen Master. I can handle anything.

I turn around.

Please give me something else to handle.

Ron's looking pleadingly at me, the stupid puppy dog eyes shit.

Harry's morphed into Houdini and made a convenient escape-seems he took Ginny with him. I have been left to deal with Ron on my own.

"What's up Ron?" I ask nervously.

"Hermione, I've been thinking, and I think...weshouldgetbacktogether."

I think you've been practicing in front of the mirror.

And I think you need to practice your public speaking.

Is what I think.

I've never known anyone less tactful. And he obviously didn't think about the possible end results. If I say yes, everything is cool, and all the mistakes he made in setting this up won't come around and bite him in the ass. If I say no, it's an entirely different story. Not only will he lose his temper and be very upset, but his amazing metamorphosis into something resembling a human tomato will be witnessed (for the millionth time) by the entire student body. And it's not like I'll be able to do anything about it either, because we all know that once Ron gets himself worked up over something nobody can get through to him.

"Um, Ron...I don't think this is the place to talk about this."

"Why? Are you going to say no?"

You can't say I didn't try. But I really need to get it through to him that I want him to stop trying to be my boyfriend and just be my friend.

How do I do this?

I remember Chelsea giving me some advice after turning down a guy. "Always make it sound like it's you," she said.

"Ron, I really don't think I have time for a relationship right now. I mean, this is our seventh year, and we have really important tests at the end of the year. I don't want to end up ignoring you all the time because I feel I need to study. Doing well is vital to my well-being, you know that. If I don't do well on these tests because I have other things to think about I...I don't know what will happen. I'll be furious, and depressed, and you don't want to deal with all that, Ron. You need someone who can really take care of you, and I don't have the ability to do that."

I'd like to thank the Academy.

"Oh," Ron says.

Crisis averted. The population of Hogwarts may go on living. I'm okay, I'm okay.

"But we can definitely be friends," I tell him, smiling for emphasis. "I have to go, though, I'll see you later, okay?"

I leave before he can say anything. I don't want to give him time to develop a response. Right now my reason seems bulletproof to him, and I want it to stay that way.

I mean, I was basically telling the truth. I don't have time for a relationship right now with anyone other than the Sex God. And doing well is very important to me. And if I don't do well because I'm worried that my boyfriend's tongue will one day go so far down my throat that it triggers my gag reflex and I puke in his mouth, I will be pissed.

I meet up with Ginny outside the Great Hall, where she is obviously waiting to hear how things went.

"Sorry about that," she says the moment I'm within earshot. "But I saw him coming and decided not to hang around and make everything more uncomfortable."

"It's okay," I reply. "He just asked me to go back out with him and I, in short, said no. But I gave a pretty decent reason, so hopefully it'll be a while before he finds a loophole and asks again."

"If he has to look for a loophole in YOUR reasoning, I daresay you can rest easy until I've graduated," Ginny says bracingly.

I laugh. It's a universally known fact that you can tell Ron's thinking when you see a candle above his head.

He's not too bright.

I hang out with Ginny for a while in the Heads' common room, then kick her out because I have a crapload of homework to do. Apparently the Sex God has the same idea, because he walks in just as she's leaving.

"Oh, are you finished cleaning already?" he calls after her rudely, and even though she doesn't turn around she makes it perfectly clear she heard him by flipping him off.

Remind me again why I like him.

He turns around and looks at me.

Oh yeah. Now I remember.

"What are you staring at, Granger?"

You.

"Nothing. Just zoning out."

Laaaaaaame.

"You seem to do that quite a lot," he responds in a neutral tone.

Hey, he didn't insult me for once. Maybe he likes me.

"All that studying is probably killing your brain. No wonder you're socially retarded."

Nevermind.

"Don't get into arguments with anyone Granger. I have a shitload of homework and can't afford to be interrupted just because you've decided to exercise your incredible vocal chords."

"Well since I don't plan on having anyone else visit, the only person I'd be fighting with is you, Malfoy. And you're interrupting _my_ homework."

Funny. I seem to have gotten my powers of speech back.

"I'm going to be in my room, so no chance of that. Good night, Longtooth, and try not to stare at my ass as I go upstairs."

Shit. He noticed.

He goes to his room, and I do the same. No use sitting in the common room if he's already upstairs, and I only sit there to watch his delicious body walk across the room anyway.

At the rate I'm going, I'll be single forever. Until I end up in Times Square chasing after male hookers screaming, "Do you take debit!"

Oh shut up. Whiner.

Bed, I guess. Time to turn in and fantasize about the Sex God shagging me on a large pile of books in the privacy of my own head.

Mornings have never been the best time for me. I have difficulty dragging myself from the warmth of my bed, and used to sleep right through the alarm clock. It got so bad I had to magically modify the clock to scream, "GET UP COCKSUCKER!" repeatedly until I got my carcass out of bed. And either the charm creators did not list all the side effects or I performed the spell incorrectly (which I don't think I did), because the alarm clock developed a variety of colorful insults to scream in my ear every morning. I've gotten everything from "cuntrag" to "rugmuncher." Apparently the clock got bored with "cocksucker" and decided to switch it up, which I did not appreciate when I found out.

One of the habits I've developed to wake myself up is dancing to really loud music. The dancing used to be confined to my room, since that's where my cd player is. But once my parents got me an iPod, I became mobile, and can now take the dancing everywhere.

This morning, I am taking the dancing down to the (fully stocked) kitchen in the Heads' chambers. Draco is never up in the morning-I have no idea how that boy makes it to class on time because his alarm clock starts blasting as I'm walking out the door. Basically, I am all by my lonesome in the morning.

Which is fine, because I look like a monster. Crazy hair, baggy pajama pants and a t-shirt and no makeup.

Yuck.

I bop down to the kitchen listening to some old school music-The Smiths, to be precise. Bop bop bop, what should I have for breakfast?

The song ends and another one begins.

I can't possibly not all-out dance to this song.

Draco's never going to come down, what's the big deal?

You can't possibly not dance to this song.

DANCE MY PUPPET DANCE!

Oh alright.

I give in.

Oh yeah.

_Can't explain all the feelings that you're making me feel_

_My heart's in overdrive and you're behind the steering wheel_

Very bad poke dancing.

_Touching you, touching me_

_Touching you, god you're touching me_

Woo woo woo.

Bop bop bop.

_I believe in a thing called love_

_Just listen to the rhythm of the heart_

_There's a chance we could make it now_

_We'll be rocking till the sun goes down_

_I believe in a thing called love_

_Ooh!_

_I want to kiss you every minute, every hour, every day_

Yeah I do Sex God. Hop hop hop.

_You've got me in a spin but everything is A-OK_

_Touching you, touching me_

_Touching you, god you're touching me_

_I believe in a thing called love_

_Just listen to the rhythm of the heart_

_There's a chance we could make it now_

_We'll be rocking till the sun goes down_

_I believe in a thing called love_

_Ooh!_

_Guitar!_

Time for my solo. I am the air guitar master. Air guitar around my screaming fans. Thank you chairs! Crowd surf on the counter! Make those rock goddess faces! Now! Get back on the table stage!

_Touching you, touching me_

_Touching you, god you're touching me_

More poke dancing.

More guitar solos.

I am careful not to hop my way right off my stage.

_I believe in a thing called love_

_Just listen to the rhythm of the heart_

_There's a chance we could make it now_

_We'll be rocking till the sun goes down_

_I believe in a thing called love_

_Ooh!_

End with one last guitar flare. I am Hermione Rock Goddess.

And there is the Sex God in the doorway, staring at me.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

We stare at each other for a few moments, me in shocked horror, him in shocked amusement. I get down off the table and take off my headphones and wait for the attendants in white to run in and put me in a straightjacket. Either that or for a wild freak tornado to come flying through the room and sweep me away with it.

That would be really good right now.

"What the fuck are you doing Granger?" He's the first to recover.

"It's a good song," I respond defensively, without thinking. "'I Believe In A Thing Called Love' by The Darkness. You can't not dance to it."

"You call THAT dancing? You better never go to a club, Granger, you'll get your ass kicked."

I think I'm going to die. I will now proceed to slink out of the kitchen in utter humiliation and go to my room, where I will curl up in a ball and die of shame.

Of all mornings, why the fuck did this have to be the one he's awake for?

I won't be able to face him after this.

"Mission aborted," I tell Ginny over lunch.

"What are you talking about?" she asks, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment and not really listening.

"We're no longer going after the Sex God. We're going to sit quietly and do our homework and keep to ourselves for the rest of the year. What are you doing?"

"Potions. What happened to make you decide that?"

"Let me see that," I say, grabbing the parchment from her and looking it over. "It's three stirs, not four. And he caught me dancing in the kitchen this morning."

"What were you listening to?"

"That song by The Darkness."

"Oh, that's a good song. Any other mistakes?"

"Nope, that's it."

"Thanks." She fixes her error, then looks up at me. "Do you seriously want to let the Sex God go simply because of some stupid little thing like him catching you dancing?"

She doesn't get it.

"I was pretending to be a rock star," I hiss through gritted teeth. "I was making all those rock god faces and playing air guitar and standing on the table. Now, on top of being a nerd to him, I'm a freak also. My chances of taking him from the Bitchy Ho are subterranean."

"True. But I think it's time you established your standing with the other seventh years," Ginny says, a thoughtful look on her face.

I am intrigued.

"How do you mean?"

"Well face it Hermione, you're hot now. Nothing happened to your personality, but guys are ridiculously superficial. They all talk about you like you're a girl now, instead of some personified encyclopedia. And if you think I'm lying about them being superficial, ask my brother about some of the girls he's dated. He stopped seeing this one girl after two dates because she had a weird birthmark on her back."

Douche.

How pathetic. Just because I'm good looking now...you know what, I am not even going there.

"All the guys?"

"Well, yeah. And if you date a few really good looking ones, it might get Pansy to view you as competition. It might even turn Draco's head. He'll see you as you are-a hot, smart girl who isn't interested in him."

"But I am. That's wh-"

She cuts me off. "I know that idiot. But he doesn't. Really. And they say you're 'the brightest witch of our age'."

Oh. Right.

But who would I go out with?

**0000000000**

**Sorry it took so long. The website was giving me a hard time. No offense to any Cher or John Denver fans. This was a real life conversation-I didn't make it up.**

**Please read and review!**

**Carrie**


	15. First Date

1**Disclaimer: insert usual bullshit here**

**Warning: I feel I should warn my readers that there is very mild drug use in this chapter. (Don't worry, it's not Hermione.) (And actually, there is no actual usage, just basically the mention of it.) I'm not condoning anything, I just thought it was amusing in this situation. I hope you find it amusing as well. Just...read it, and then you can decide what you think.**

**0000000000**

After lunch, I head up to Dumbledore's office to discuss my work schedule with him. I need to start working as soon as possible, since Ginny pushed me into poverty with our little shopping spree last Saturday.

And it's also a known rule that once you have a good shopping experience with someone, it becomes an addiction.

I stand outside the gargoyle for a while, rattling off wizarding candy, trying to figure out the password.

"Cockroach cluster, no? Okaaaay...uhhh...fizzing whizbees..you don't like that one either, alrighty, um..fainting fancies..."

To my utter surprise, the gargoyle jumps aside.

I have to laugh. Leave it to Dumbledore.

I head up to his office and knock on the door. He better be there, after all the energy and brainpower I wasted trying to guess his friggin password.

"Come in," a deep voice says.

Thank God.

I push open the heavy wooden door and enter his office. As I walk in, I smell...no, it can't be. I shake my head a little to clear it. I must still be muddled from trying to think of candy.

Focus, idiot. Work. Money.

"Miss Granger, I had a feeling you'd be coming to see me soon. What can I do for you?" Dumbledore smiles pleasantly from where he's sitting behind his desk. He leans forward as I come closer and asks, "Would you like a lemon drop?"

"Um, no, thanks, Professor." What is up with him and lemon drops? They're not that great.

I park my ass in an armchair and launch into the reason why I'm there. By the time I finish, I'm almost gasping for breath. I always get a little nervous around him for some weird reason and, as a result, I end up talking a mile a minute.

Just as he opens his mouth to answer (presumably to tell me that I can go to Hogsmeade whenever I can fit it into my schedule, that's what I did last year), someone else knocks on the door.

"Yes?" Dumbledore calls out pleasantly. I don't know how he stands it, having people owling him and knocking on his door every five seconds. It'd drive me up the wall.

Professor McGonagall pokes her head in. "Albus...oh, hello Miss Granger..er...may I speak with you for a moment?"

I move to get up, assuming they'll want to have the office to themselves. Dumbledore motions for me to sit down, however, and rises from his chair, saying, "I'll come to you, Minerva. Excuse me, Miss Granger."

I nod and retake my seat.

As he passes me by...there it is again. That smell.

Weird.

The door shuts behind him and I'm alone in Dumbledore's office.

As always, there are lots of beautiful ornaments on the shelves on the walls. These decorations have always been an endless source of fascination for me, since I never had time to examine them before. I look around, admiring them. A gorgeous miniature of a Time Turner, a very well-crafted moving miniature of a dragon, a six-foot bong, and...

Wait.

A six-foot bong?

What the fuck?

It all comes together at once.

Dumbledore smokes weed.

No wonder he's always so relaxed.

No wonder he's always eating lemon drops. The man has perpetual munchies.

I recognize the smell and the smoking paraphernalia from Chelsea, who happens to be a full-time pothead. She tried to get me to smoke a few times, but it was never really my thing, so I always refused.

This is so weird.

I should probably just act like I don't have a clue, right?

The only thing is, now I can't shake the vision in my head of Dumbledore puffing away on a joint, leaning back in his chair with a big stoner grin on his face.

Come on, can't you just picture him doing that?

I mean, if I had ever actually bothered to give something like Dumbledore the Pothead any consideration, I would've had him pinned as a joint man. With the occasional blunt thrown in here and there, maybe hitting the hookah a couple of times a month with Flitwick and Pomfrey.

Don't give me that. We all know Pomfrey spends way too much time locked in her infirmary with a closet full of medicine.

The only thing I'm really surprised about is the six-foot bong. I'm not sure if Dumbledore's wrinkly old lungs could actually hit that.

But hey, what the hell do I know?

The sound of the doorknob turning knocks me out of my hilarious fantasy world where Pomfrey's giggling madly as Dumbledore stuffs lemon drops into his mouth and Flitwick says, "Dumbly's munchin out!"

"Thank you, Minerva. I'll be sure to give the matter some consideration," Dumbledore says, walking back in and shutting the door behind him.

Serious face. You know nothing. Who, me? Think innocence. Think rainbows and kittens.

Sex kitten...

Shut up. No one asked the gutter gallery. He's old. You can't think things like that in front of him.

He can't read your mind.

Are you sure?

"Miss Granger?" The deep voice ends my argument with myself, and I straighten up a little and turn to face him.

"Yes?"

"Before Professor McGonagall came in, I was simply going to tell you that you are free to continue with the arrangements we made last year. Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me?"

"No, thank you, Professor."

A sudden vision of Dumbledore chillin with a joint pops into my head, and I beat a hasty retreat down into the hallway before I burst into laughter.

By dinnertime, however, I am no longer laughing.

It seems that Draco Malfoy's incredible talent to humiliate the world has struck once again, because as I walk down to the Great Hall for dinner every Slytherin I pass is playing air guitar and laughing hysterically.

Oh. Holy. Jesus.

By the time I reach the staircase leading down into the Entrance Hall, my face is beet red and I don't even notice that I've crashed into Terry Boot until he starts talking to me.

"-Hermione? You alright?"

"What? Oh, yeah, I'm fine, thanks Terry." I smile a little at him and make to go around him and down the stairs, but apparently, he's not done with me yet.

"Could I talk to you for a moment?"

What the hell do you want? Can't you see that now is NOT A GOOD TIME!

Calm down.

"Sure."

I follow him over to a quieter corner of the hallway, attempting to look politely puzzled instead of rudely inconvenienced.

"Hermione, I was just wondering...would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me on Sunday?"

What?

I must admit I'm completely thrown by this one. I don't know Terry well at all, just a little bit from having classes together and occasionally patrolling the corridors together as prefects. Lots of girls think he's quite good-looking. I never really looked because I set my sights on Mr. Perfect himself. Naturally, other boys really don't cut it after glimpsing him.

But to be fair, Terry's alright. Not shabby. And smart, too, or he wouldn't be in Ravenclaw. I guess if you don't have abnormally high standards, Terry Boot is a pretty decent catch. Nice, smart, pretty. Something any girl would want.

And he just asked me on a date. Just like that.

This is so weird.

But saying no would be mean, right? After he worked up the courage to ask me and everything? And Ginny did say I should date around a little. For some reason that never really made much sense to me in the first place.

Logic points to saying yes.

So I do.

"Sure, that'd be nice," I tell him, making sure to plaster a huge happy smile on my face so he won't know how totally off guard he got me.

They should warn you before they do things like that. Something along the lines of, "I'm about to ask you out now," so you have time to prepare. Either that or they should all have to wear a big set of shining shrieking lights like the ones of top of cop cars that go off whenever they're about to pop the question they hope will get them at least to first base.

"Awesome," he says, obviously relieved. "We can make definite plans later, alright? I gotta go eat now."

God forbid anything stand between a boy and his food.

"Yeah, that's fine," I say, and with that, our conversation is over.

I'm still slightly shell-shocked when I walk into the Great Hall, and there are only four words repeating themselves again and again in my normally overactive mind:

Must.

Talk.

To.

Ginny.

I barely make it to my seat before the words spill out. I'm like a dying trauma victim in need of life support-if I don't get hooked up to my Ginny Moral Support NOW, I'm screwed.

Okay, that was a stupid ass analogy. But you get what I mean.

"TerryBootaskedmeout,"I tell her in one long exhalation.

"Sorry?"

Take a deep breath. Calm down. Breathe in, breathe out. Wax on, wax off.

Ginny's staring at me like I'm a six-legged dolphin.

"Terry Boot asked me out," I repeat more slowly. "You were right. Remember when you said he was looking at me all weird and you wouldn't be like shocked if he said something to me? Well he did. He asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him on Sunday."

"Oh really?" Ginny asks brightly, all trace of Hermione-is-weird disappearing from her face.

Ya rly.

"I'm not sure if this is a good thing," I conclude, reaching across the table for the dinner rolls before Ron The Amazing Human Sanitation System snarfs them all. I can't wait for that boy's metabolism to catch up with him. I sometimes have fleeting fantasies of us at our class reunion like 10 years from now and watching Ron eat like one chip and BAM! He gains the 400lbs he should've put on during our school years in one go.

Anyway.

"Why wouldn't it be a good thing?" Ginny asks, totally nonplused. "Remember what I told you about establishing your standing and stuff? Mione, everybody else has about 3 years of dating on you. You need to catch up a little bit."

And therein lies our problem. She kind of just said it. I've never been on a date, and the first thing she wants me to do is go traipsing along ALONE with a good looking boy?

Is she TRYING to ruin me?

I tell her this in less harsh terms, and leave out my own private suspicion that she is indeed trying to make sure I throw myself off the Astronomy Tower this year.

"NO, I don't want you to BLOW IT with him! Ugh, gosh, Hermione, the way you put it, you'd think I was out to get you or something."

Okay, maybe not less harsh terms.

I should make up for it.

"Well, since you're not trying to kill me, there is one thing you can do for me."

"Oh yeah, what's that?"

"You and Harry can do a double date with me and Terry."

"Oh, fine."

Thank God she agreed.

I dunno what I would've done if she didn't. Probably thrown myself down the stairs or something so I could break my arm and give Terry an excuse.

_She had just begun to clean up from a lonesome breakfast when there suddenly came a knock on the door._

"_Who could that be?" she wondered aloud to herself, putting her mug and plate on the counter and moving to answer the door._

_She opened it to reveal an exhausted yet gorgeous blond man slumped against the door frame. _

"_Draco?" she asked worriedly. "What are you doing here? I never expected to see you again."_

_With apparent difficulty he opened his eyes and straightened up. "I know," he whispered hoarsely. "I thought...well, it doesn't matter what I thought now. I was wrong, love, and I flew all night just to get back here. I need you, Hermione, more than I've needed anything else in my entire life."_

_She smiled through the tears in her eyes. "Really?" she asked._

"_Really," he responded, pulling her to him roughly. Together, they moved into the apartment and Draco shut the door behind them with his foot, proceeding to slam her up against the wall and furiously kiss her. _

_She broke their kiss to look up at him. "I thought you were tired?" she asked slyly._

"_I seem to have gotten a second wind," he responded. "And I've always wanted to take you up against the wall..."_

"Get up, Hermione!"

"He's got it up," I mumble in response. Jeez. Some people are trying to have fantasy sex here.

"What? Who?"

Shiiiiit.

"Hey Ginny," I say, sitting up and attempting to hide my complete mortification by pretending I've lost something somewhere in the bedclothes.

"Hi. Do you have some mystery man hidden under the covers that I don't know about?"

"No, it was...uhhh...why are you up here?"

It was high time to change the topic anyway. A very boring and awkward conversation was about to be had there.

"The Sex God let me in. Come on, we have an hour."

Is it just me, or is Ginny being very vague this morning? I for one have no idea what this girl is on about.

When no recognition shows in my face, Ginny just shoots for being painfully obvious.

"It's Sunday, you bloody slut! You have a bloody date with bloody Terry Boot!"

OH.

Fucker.

Well so much for the hope that Sunday would come and go without anyone noticing this week.

"I don't think I'm going," I inform her, pulling the covers over my head and disappearing from view.

Childish?

Abso-fucking-lutely.

But justified?

Also abso-fucking-lutely.

I mean, you really can accept this type of behavior from me. I've never been on a date before. It's right up there with jumping into a pit of starving sharks in my book.

Ginny, as usual, has other plans for me.

She yanks the covers off with a force I never thought a girl so skinny could possess and looks at me with the inherent Weasley-woman fury in her eyes.

"You most certainly ARE going, Hermione Jane Granger! You have to start dating sometime, and be thankful that Harry and I are going to be there holding your hand for a while! So just get your lard ass out of bed and get into that bathroom and take a shower!"

Okay, okay. No need to break out the bat.

"Is it that time of the month already?" I ask sarcastically, and then run into the bathroom before she can kill me with her Weasley rage.

Once safely behind the (locked) door, I take time out for a moment and just breathe. I really need to relax and just get myself together.

I don't know what the hell I'm so afraid of. My two best friends are going to be there. It's not as if I can exactly screw everything up.

Without trying really REALLY hard.

A little while later, we are ready to go. My room looks like World War III was fought intensely in it, but no matter. Being buried under fourteen feet of clothes has never exactly been an issue for me.

Ginny has me looking all spiffy in a pleated denim skirt and a white tank top with a casual looking dark red sweater throw over it. Thankfully, she lets me get away with my converse and grommet-studded belt.

We've just reached the Entrance Hallway when the whispering starts from behind us.

"...and so Harry says to me, 'Gin, come on-'"

"Shh!" I hiss at her, trying to get her to shut up so I can hear what the girls behind me are saying.

I know it has to be a group of girls behind me. Boys never whisper malevolently like that.

Ginny gives me an indignant look. "Why did you 'shh' me?"

I motion with my eyes behind us, and she stupidly turns around. I say stupidly because the minute she does, the whispering stops. So it's about either me or her. And I'm willing to place money on the topic of conversation not being her.

The group of girls pushes past us at this point, and, as they do, I realize that not only is it a group of girls, it's a group of Slytherin girls.

Yaaaaay.

"What's up?" I ask Ginny in a low voice.

"I'm not sure," she says, frowning. "But I'm almost positive that it was about something you're wearing."

What? I don't know what I was expecting, but it certainly wasn't this.

"What do you mean, about something I'm wearing?"

"I don't know, hang on a minute, if you'd shut up, I could figure it out," Ginny mutters, glancing quickly around the entrance hallway.

Her eyes settle on something and widen for a moment. "Oh shit," she breathes.

I'm almost snorting fire at this point. I'm a lot of things, but patient is NOT one of them.

"What? What?"

"Dude, don't look-I said _don't _look-but you and Pansy are wearing the same skirt. That's what they were talking about."

I frown for a moment at this news. I've often heard of this kind of thing happening in Girl World-it's kind of like the fight that goes on between male wolves to see who gets to be the alpha male. In this case, it's with clothes. Loser has to change.

"I didn't copy her," I say immediately. Ginny gives me a you're-stupid look and goes back to observing the Slytherin girls, who are now tightly clustered around Pansy and all whispering darkly.

"I'm not changing," I mutter to Ginny. She nods in agreement.

"You shouldn't have to. That bitch has a million skirts. And if she has a problem, she can just go make a new one."

"Are you going to tell her that, or should I? Because here she comes now."

And indeed, Pansy Parkinson, Fashion Princess, is walking across the room towards the two of us, radiating a fury heat to rival that of a volcano.

"I didn't realize you looked to me for fashion tips, Granger," she snarls.

"I didn't realize accidentally wearing the same skirt as you counted as looking to you for fashion tips, Parkinson. And anyway, I never would-you wear some of the most disastrous getups ever."

This is only partially true. Yes, she does wear some of the most disastrous getups ever-but they would only look disastrous on anyone besides her or maybe Kate Moss.

"Go fuck yourself, Granger," Pansy snaps.

It is at this opportune moment, as I am getting told off by one of the best looking girls in the whole school and having a very hard time controlling myself and not taking off my sneaker and slapping her around with it that Mr. Perfect himself decides to walk over and grace us with his presence.

"Hey babe," he says to Pansy, kissing her on the cheek. He then finally seems to notice the fact that her perfect ivory cheeks are tinged pink and I'm breathing like a winded rhinoceros. "What's going on? What have you done to my girlfriend, Beaver?"

Oh, lovely. Good morning to you too. Fine weather we're having, isn't it?

"I haven't done anything, Malfoy," I respond coldly. "Now if you two will kindly shove off, I need to go meet up with Terry."

"Terry? _You're _dating Terry Boot?" Pansy asks in complete disbelief.

"As a matter of fact," I respond, barely containing my smile at their shock, "I am."

And with that, I turn on my heel, stalk off, and pray that Ginny's taken my lead and followed me.

"Hermione, that was brilliant! That went better than I could've hoped for. I bet they're still standing there catching flies," Ginny babbles as she hurries to catch up with me. "And you know Pansy-she'll tell everyone she knows."

Yes, I know Pansy. And, knowing Pansy, she'll manage to make me sound bad while telling everyone she knows. She'll put her little Slytherin spin on it, and, in no time at all, rumors will be flying around that I drugged Terry Boot with a love potion or I threatened to hex his balls off unless he took me on a date.

As we meet up with the boys, say our hellos, and head off down the path to the village, I only have one thought running through my head:

I hope, I hope, I hope this goes well. And I hope, I hope, I hope I don't see Pansy or the Sex God for the rest of the day.

The first hour passes quickly, and everything is going great. Everyone is getting along just fine, and, even though the conversation is nearly putting me to sleep (recounting old Quidditch matches Harry, Ginny, and Terry played against each other play-by-play), I'm okay. I'm just glad I don't have to try and think of ways to entertain Terry all by myself.

Just as I'm thinking that, and patting myself on the back in relief, I hear, "Okay, Hermione?"

"What?"

"I said," Ginny repeats a bit impatiently, "Harry and I are going to go hang around by ourselves until lunch, okay?"

Crap.

"Um, okay." What am I supposed to say? No, don't leave me? Yeah, because that would go over real well.

Terry smiles at me and I'm slightly comforted by the fact that he looks about as nervous as I feel.

We wave goodbye to Harry and Ginny and, with that, we're on our own.

AWK-ward.

"So, um, do you want to walk around for a bit?"Terry asks.

"Yeah, sure, okay," I respond, and the two of us set off, milling aimlessly around Hogsmeade.

Within the first five minutes, we pass by the bookstore and I manage to make conversation for a little while about my job there. Terry, in turn, tells me how he (naturally) works at the Quidditch shop. He nearly gets a hard-on as he recounts stories about all of the famous Quidditch players (who I have naturally never heard of) who came into the shop and how the owner used to give him free stuff.

After the tenth story of how some stupid wizard who flies around on a stupid broom shook his hand and asked his name, I am quite done with My Working Life as Terry Boot, Fifteen-Second Celebrity and devote my attention to window shopping. He finally notices how I'm not paying attention and stops his rambling (thank God) and we make small talk about the stuff in the windows.

Everything is going somewhere between fine and okay when we pass by Madam Puddifoot's, that place where obsessive couples like to go and make googly eyes at each other.

Then, it all goes from fine to really bad in about five seconds.

"Padma and I used to go here a lot," Terry comments as we walk by.

I'm not really paying too much attention, just thanking my lucky stars that he doesn't ask me to go in.

"You used to date Padma Patil? I didn't know that," I remark automatically. By this point, I'm latching onto anything that will save us from the redonkulously awkward silence that I know is coming.

"Yeah, I did. She dumped me about two months ago."

"Oh, sorry," I say, not really meaning it, and wait for him to either say something about what a bitch she is or to move on to another topic, because he isn't going to moon over his ex-girlfriend while he's on a date with another girl, right?

"Me too. She was so amazing. She was the first girl I ever fell in love with."

Thaaaat's nice.

I don't care.

I don't say anything and just hope silently that he'll notice I'm not really interested (and nor would any other girl be), but, suddenly, and without my knowledge that it was happening, I'm being treated to a tour around Hogsmeade of All the Romantic Places We Went Before My Angel Went Away, with a running commentary and too much information by tour guide Terry Boot.

Oh Christ.

"We had a picnic up there for her birthday," Terry's saying, pointing up to a hillside just on the outskirts of town. "And I gave her a necklace. She used to wear it all the time when we were going out."

He keeps saying things similar to this as we walk around. I didn't think something special could happen to the same two people on every single corner of Hogsmeade but hey, what do I know?

"And there we had our first kiss," he's informing me, pointing to a very plain and boring old street corner. "We were just looking at each other and we felt this connection and then we kissed. She was the best kisser I ever dated."

Good God. It's like walking around with a Chatty Kathy doll that's possessed by a mildly retarded demon.

I look around. All the escape routes are covered. I'm stuck with him.

It gets progressively worse as we walk around. He's obviously not over her because he's getting all emotional, and I have the biggest migraine of my life.

I suggest we head to the Shrieking Shack, the most unromantic place in Hogsmeade I can possibly think of. We make it there without a nuclear meltdown, and hang around in the awkward silence I knew was coming throughout the entire date.

Suddenly, I hear sniffling.

Weird.

I look around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise.

Hang on.

"Terry?"

More sniffling.

"Allergies kicking in?" I ask nervously, trying to sound conversational. "All this pollen is making my eyes water."

Well, that was stupid. It's almost October, there is no pollen. Idiot.

He doesn't say anything, just keeps sniffling.

Why am I afraid?

"Terry?" I say again, this time much more cautiously.

He turns around.

I nearly fall over in shock.

He's..._crying_.

What the fuck?

I stand there staring at him, at a complete loss for words.

"I...I...I don't know what I did!" he wails.

Oh cry me a fucking river.

I pat him awkwardly on the back as he cries over his ex girlfriend.

Could this fucking date GET any worse?

"OHMYGOD, Terry, are you okay?" shrieks a high pitched voice from behind me.

Oh yeah, this date just got a LOT worse.

I turn around to find Parvati and Lavender standing behind me, gawking like they're at a museum.

The Museum of Shitty Dates.

"Why is he crying?" Lavender asks me.

"I just...got all emotional...because of Padma," Terry (aka Waterworks) blubbers from behind me.

"AW!" They both coo. "Well let's go back up to the castle or something. It's okay sweetie," Lavender says, putting her arm around him.

Without a backward glance, the three of them swim away on Terry Tears.

And with that, my date with Waterworks is over.

"Well at least YOU didn't do anything to mess it up," Ginny tells me, attempting to comfort me with her twisted logic.

Harry, Ginny, and I are sitting in the Three Broomsticks, chatting while we wait for our lunch.

Naturally, Harry and Ginny wanted to know the deal when I returned sans my date.

"Even so, you don't think the whole school is going to have heard about this by dinner?"I respond.

It doesn't help that Harry's nodding in agreement as I say this.

"Mione's right, Gin," he informs the redhead. "And especially since it was Parvati and Lavender who found them...they can't keep their mouths shut."

At this point, I've completely lost my appetite.

"You know what, guys," I say, getting up from the table and grabbing my purse. "I think I'm just gonna head out. Go back to my rooms and get some homework done before the shitstorm strikes and it's impossible to concentrate."

Harry opens his mouth to argue (probably to tell me something about safety in numbers) but Ginny cuts him off at the knees with an infamous Weasley Look and says, "Okay, Herms. See you at dinner."

Not if I'm dragged off and stoned to death by the Terry Boot Fan Club first.

Aforementioned Fan Club is nowhere in sight as I head up back to my chambers in the castle.

Actually, I don't pass anyone worth mentioning. Just a few of the younger years, whose brains are too underdeveloped to understand my pain and the power of gossip.

"Well look who it is," Desdemona (or is it Esmerelda?) sneers as I near the wooden doors, behind which lie Safety and Homework and My Room.

"If I say this, lick me till I scream," I say coldly, and the doors swing open, but not before both of them have managed to give me very dirty looks.

"Her brain doesn't seem to be malfunctioning today. She actually said the password in under an hour," I hear as the doors close behind me.

I breathe a sigh of relief and slump down against the nearest wall.

"Bad date, Granger?" a drawling (sexy as hell) voice asks me.

I look up, and mine eyes are blinded, for thou art a living god, mine own Sex God.

"Like you wouldn't believe," I reply, and, before I know it, I'm repeating the whole story to Him. Hottie Mc Hotness.

"...and then, he starts crying! He basically told me he wasn't over her and he 'didn't know what he did.'"

"Well that blows," McYummy says. "You need to start dating better guys, Granger. Ones who won't lose it over some stupid girl."

Like you?

All you have to do is ask.

Say the word, and I shall be yours.

Because at this rate, I'm going to be a dating pariah by the end of the month.

**0000000000**

**And next time, more dating and rejection.**

**I promise, a hookup with the Sex God is on its way. Sooner than you think.**

**I'm sorry if I offended anyone with the Dumbledore thing. I just thought it was funny.**

**Well, read and review! If I don't get bashed for this chapter, I shall continue!**

**Carrie**


	16. The Accelerated Plan Is Introduced

1**Disclaimer: Hey! This is just like Santa's workshop! Except it smells like mushrooms and everyone looks like they wanna kill me. They will kill me, if I try to steal J.K. Rowling's brilliance.**

**A special thank you to whichever reader(s) nominated me at the "He Had It Coming" website. This story has been nominated in two categories: Best Hermione POV and Best Comedy. I was so happy when I found this out that I ran around playing air guitar and dancing Hermione-style to "I Believe In A Thing Called Love."**

**Also, thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter. I am so pleased it was a success. And no, I don't mind obsessive reviewers. I think it's quite flattering that people like my work so much.**

**And on a final note, I really wish I could put music to my stories, but unfortunately, since I can't, I am going to start a New Thing, called Music You Will Need For This Chapter.**

**Music You Will Need For This Chapter: "Stupid Motherfucker" by Mindless Self Indulgence**

**And on that note, here you go.**

**0000000000**

I don't even bother going down to dinner. My apologies to all who might miss my illustrious presence, but I don't feel like being whispered about in front of my face while I try to eat my mashed potatoes.

And there _will_ be whispering. By the time Parvati and Lavender finish telling everyone they know and then some about today's events involving me and Terry Boot, the story will have gotten warped a million times and next thing you know it'll be going around that I was holding Terry at wandpoint and he was crying and begging for his life when Lavender and Parvati showed up and fought me off and saved him.

As unlikely as that is.

The only spells those two gossip queens are good at involve covering pimples and spreading stories about other people at warp speed.

My dating life is going to be in ruins by the time those two finish yakking about it.

Not that it isn't already in ruins.

He's never going to like me.

Now, he'll probably be downright afraid of me. Especially once Pansy gets finished tearing me to verbal shreds in front of him. Even though I got to him first with the story, who's he going to believe, his gorgeous girlfriend with the nice rack or Hermione "Bucktooth" Granger?

They're probably off somewhere having a good laugh about it and planning to shag afterwards.

My life blows.

At this rate, I'm really going to be doing what I told my elderly Aunt Linda I was doing a few years ago.

For those of you who have no idea what I'm referring to here:

At my family's annual Christmas party during my fifth year, it was somehow silently decided amongst my relatives and without my consent that I was old enough to be dating and it was alright to ask me about it.

My elderly Aunt Linda, a very proper sort of woman, was the first to ask me The Most Humiliating Question One May Ask A Single Person, and, in her senile state, I suppose something told her it was quite alright to ask me during dinner.

Of course, the moment the words, "So, Hermione darling, how's your love life?" came (loudly) out of her mouth, every other conversation ceased and about 30 heads turned and looked at me.

I nearly choked on my supper, I tell you.

But, in a brave (albeit misguided) effort, I decided to try and make light of the question, rather than embarrass myself and disappoint everyone by saying that I had never been on a date and probably never would be.

"Well," I said, setting down my fork and grinning a little bit in a sign that I was kidding, "I haven't found anyone yet but I'm still searching all the biker gang bars and trucker stops in hopes of snagging a good one."

Absolute silence met this comment.

It was that night that I also discovered that being a comedienne had no place in my future.

I glance over at the pile of homework just chilling on my desk and decide that if I'm not going to subject myself to the tortures awaiting me at dinner, I might as well subject myself to the tortures of homework.

Despite what everybody thinks, I don't _enjoy_ homework. Nobody in their right mind would enjoy homework. It just tends to take my mind off shit and I tend to crack down on it because it helps me stop thinking and worrying so much.

I grab my bookbag, stuff it full of homework crap, and trudge off to the practically deserted library, where I plop down in the corner and start working.

I'm halfway through my second Transfiguration essay when the after dinner crowd starts filtering in and being distracting. It's the fucking whispering that pisses me off more than anything else. The little hissing noise makes me want to twitch like a psycho and rip people's lips off. It's possible to talk quietly _without _whispering and making that stupid little noise, but some people just don't-oh, shit.

Neville Longbottom has entered the library, I repeat, Neville Longbottom has entered the library.

This is never a good or a fun time.

Me and Neville being in the library at the same time, I mean.

Now his head is swivelling...

He's looking for someone to sit with...

I am invisible...

I am not here...

His head is turning in my direction...

All the escape routes are probably covered...

I'm just going to put my head down and get back to work now before he sees me.

"Hey Hermione. Is this seat taken?"

Fuck.

"No, of course not Neville," I reply politely, smiling at him. He smiles back and begins unloading his stuff.

Ignorant twit.

He then proceeds to unceremoniously sit his fat ass in the chair right next to me.

What the crap is THAT about? You've got about five other fucking chairs at the table, pick one of those! You're invading my personal space. Personal space barrier, 50 feet for Neville Longbottom. Zero feet for the Sex God.

Not five minutes has passed before he's started asking me for help.

Jesus H. Christ.

Can't he do one essay by himself?

I don't mind helping, but he's just abusing my brain. By the time I finish helping him, I've gone through about 6 years' worth of subject material and 2 hours of my life.

Quality time with Neville always makes me think of that song by Mindless Self Indulgence, appropriately titled "Stupid Mother Fucker."

If I'm not careful, some of those lyrics from that song are going to come flying out of my mouth like verbal bullets in response to Neville's stupider questions and I'll have yet another crying boy on my hands.

One crying boy is enough for about a century; I don't need two, thanks. I've already been disturbed enough by the first one.

"So..."

Here we go.

His questions come at an agonizing snail pace because he doesn't know how to pronounce half the things he's asking about and has to keep doubling-checking the book to make sure he's even asking about the right thing.

If the Sex God was awarded out to people for good deeds, I would so deserve him for the next 20 years.

Anyone who helps Neville for longer than 15 minutes and refrains from smacking him upside the head with a textbook and calling him a retard deserves something nice.

We manage to get through the first essay without an aneurysm on my part. While he's cleaning up the disgusting mess he made with his ink and quill (how, I have no idea, the boy's been writing with a quill for how many years?), I get back to my own work. God knows it's the only few minutes I'm going to have to myself before the incessant and stupid questions start up again.

I lean back against my chair and place a textbook in my lap, researching the material for my next essay. Once I find it, I keep the book in place with one hand and reach for a quill to write it down on my parchment.

Weird.

Something's tickling my hand.

I look down, completely prepared to whack away whatever little piece of paper or fuzzy is bothering me, but, to my surprise, someone else's fingers are what's bothering me.

Neville's fingers.

What the hell?

I say the first thing that comes to mind.

"THAT'S MY HAND!"

And slightly more loudly than I intended.

Neville jerks his fingers away as though he's been burned, and adopts a slightly hurt expression.

Oh no. No no no.

"I just wanted something to hold," he says quietly. "I really like you, Hermione."

I'd like to take a moment here to admire the beautiful awkwardness of this situation. Neville Longbottom, world-class bumbling moron, just laid all of his feelings out on the table very simply. And with that one carelessly spoken (shouted) sentence, I probably shattered his little heart.

"Um..." How do I handle this tactfully, think, Hermione, think. And make it quick, this situation is deteriorating by the minute.

It's a good thing lightbulbs don't really turn on over people's heads when they have a brilliant idea, because right now the sun over my head would be blinding everyone in the room.

"I've just had a couple of bad relationship experiences, Neville," I say kindly. "I really don't think I'm ready to embark on anything else right now. I'm just going to concentrate on my studies for a while and get myself back on track."

HE SHOOTS, SHE SAVES!

"Oh," he says in a small voice. "Okay. I understand."

"Thanks," I say, genuinely appreciative of how smoothly he took the rejection. My respect for Neville has just gone up several notches.

And now for the real question-should I spit out the usual jabber about how "we can still be friends"? Or should I just go back to helping him with his homework? Would that look like I didn't really bother to consider the question at all?

Why do I suck at this stuff?

Luckily, Neville makes this decision for me. "You know what, these essays aren't due for another week or so. You've got a lot to do, I'll get back to you later with this," he says, scrambling to pick up all of his stuff and cramming it into his bag. "See you around, Hermione." And with that, he leaves the library so fast I'm surprised he doesn't set the floor on fire.

To make matters even worse, he (despite all of my mental screaming in protest) scurries past the table of Lavender Brown, Gossip Extraordinaire.

I swear to God, when it comes to ferreting out things that will ruin my life and embarrass me into next year, that girl is a bloody master.

Watching her swoop down on someone like Neville to get the scoop is almost like watching a hawk swoop down on a mouse on the Discovery Channel.

_The hawk's head snaps up as it catches wind of its prey scuttling through the field below. Its keen yellow eyes search for movement on the ground as it circles leisurely in the sky above._ _The mouse freezes in the tall grass, sensing an unfriendly presence. The hawk cleverly moves away a bit, pretending that it has moved on._

_The mouse, believing all to be well, scuttles on._

_This is its last mistake._

_The hawk dives._

You get the idea. I watch Neville stop in his tracks and Lavender accosts him. She practically pulls the information out of him, much the same way my parents yank out gross rotting teeth from other people's mouths (a profession they actually wanted me to go into and improve with my magical skills. Ew. No thank you.) When they both look my way, I hurriedly look down at my homework again, pretending that I have no idea what's going on.

I do not look down fast enough, however, to miss the blur that is Lavender motoring towards my table.

Go away. Please, just make her go away. I swear, I'll tutor Crabbe and Goyle for the rest of the year if you just make her go the fuck away.

Lavender stops next to me.

Whoever's up there obviously isn't listening. Thanks.

For nothing.

Dickwad.

"Did Neville ask you out?" she asks with the air of a Spanish Inquisitor.

"Lavender, that's between me and Neville."

Okay, I just sounded like a 50 year old mother avoiding discussing her sex life with her kids. That was the stupidest thing ever that could come out of my mouth.

I always think of good things to say like 6 hours after the opportunity has passed.

"You know what, Hermione," Lavender says in a bitchy voice, "that was really mean of you. Neville is a really sweet guy and I can't believe you would be such a bitch and just shoot him down like that. You just totally screwed up a good thing. Just to let you know."

By this time, the entire library has turned around and what was hopefully going to be a blissfully short private conversation has now turned into Tonight And Tomorrow's Gossip.

She looks at me in a triumphant sort of way, the way my cat looks after he's killed a mouse and he's inanely proud of himself.

She obviously thinks she's won.

I am not going down like this.

"No, you know what, Lavender, it wasn't your place to come over here and say anything to me at all. And if Neville's such a good thing, why don't you take the opportunity I so carelessly threw away and go out with him yourself?"

I'd like to thank the Academy.

Lavender's still staring at me, completely speechless, as I calmly gather my things and saunter out of the library in front of the school.

Work it baby. Shake that moneymaker.

I make it back to the Heads' rooms and even past Snotrag 1 and Snotrag 2 my lovely and accommodating wooden door nymphs in a good mood.

My elated state continues all through my Transfiguration and Arithmancy essays, and right up until the doorknob turns and the Sex God floats in on his Cloud of Sexiness, with the sounds of two horny, enamored wooden door nymphs cooing behind him like a couple of bitchy, girl-hating angels.

This is always the most awkward time of night. Should I say something? Should I just pretend I don't know he exists? And if I am supposed to say something, what should it be about? Homework? No, that would just cement me in the "Nerd And Therefore Untouchable" category in his brain. I should talk about something else, just to show him I am a well-rounded person who has many interesting things to say. But what? I hardly know anything about him-we don't exactly sit around having heart-to-hearts every night in our pajamas while braiding our hair and painting our nails. So what is there to say then? Shou-

"That was a pretty impressive speech in the library, Granger," he says, and my normally overworked brain shuts down.

I got nothing.

"Um, thanks."

_Um thanks? _Is that all you could think of to say? Way to keep the conversation going, Hermione. You suck.

"I think that's the only time someone has ever actually shut that bitchy gossiping whore up," he continues.

I am speechless. I am amazed he actually wants to talk to me.

"Well, I'm not going to go out with someone I'm not attracted to just because she thinks I should," I blurt out bluntly, and much to my further surprise, he laughs.

If I get any more surprised, I'll explode.

"And there's no reason you should," he chuckles. "Well I'm off to bed. Night."

"Night," is all I can manage before he shuts the door.

**0000000000**

It is all I can not to locomotor myself down to breakfast the next day. I have to tell Ginny about what happened with His Royal Sexiness last night.

Yes, I know, it was just a tiny two-minute conversation. But that's the most I've gotten from him without insults flying back and forth in years, and I'm all giddy. I even did a little Giddy Dance this morning. You know, the one where you do a silly hand wave and squee. Naturally, I did this in the privacy of my own room with the door locked, because if he caught me I'd literally drop dead from humiliation.

"Ginny!" I spot her bright red hair in the sea of people swarming down to the Great Hall and push my way past them to get to her. A few people make put-out noises at me, but this morning I could care less: the Sex God and I had a real conversation last night and it was awesome.

"Hi, Hermione," Ginny yawns sleepily as I grab her arm and pull her into an alcove. "What the fuck is up with you?"

"The Sex God and I had a real conversation last night. Without any insults. He talked first."

"Oh, really?" This news seems to wake Ginny up, and I can see her getting a plotting gleam in her eye.

"Yeah...oh, I know that look. What are you thinking Ginny?" I'm half excited and half dreading what's going to come out of her mouth.

"I'm thinking we should move on to the accelerated portion of this program," she says. "Yes Hermione, I think it's time you went clubbing where Mr. Draco Malfoy goes clubbing."

**0000000000**

**Sorry it took me so goddamn long to update. Fucking college. Hope you like it, if any of you are still reading it. Let me know.**

**-Carrie**__


	17. A Big Plate Of Crazy

1**A big thank you to everyone who is still reading.**

**Hugs to all.**

**School starts again soon. Bah.**

**That's all.**

**Disclaimer: I disclaim.**

**0000000000**

I can't sleep.

Clubbing? Me? Did Ginny have a big plate of crazy for dinner?

Don't get me wrong, I enjoy dancing. That air guitar incident in the kitchen should be enough to prove that. But I'm not exactly rhythm-tastic. You can't air guitar or poke dance in a club.

I keep having visions of me dancing like a dweeb in a club and big 200-pound, 6 foot tall bald bouncers with Oakleys swooping down on me and throwing me into the street while the Sex God and his friends point and laugh.

And anyway, I've never really had any desire to go clubbing. I just don't think it would really be my scene. A bunch of drunken sweaty people bumping and grinding each other while stereotypical sleazy club guys stand in dark corners and boobs fly everywhere? People puking in the bathroom? Celebrities doing cocaine in the VIP room and kids popping ecstasy?

Yeah, um, no.

But then there's the other part of it. If I'm ever going to get Sexalicious to notice me, I have to show that I'm not just a bookworm. And I don't mean like change my personality or anything like that for him, because that's just lame. I have no interest in pretending to be someone else. I just want to show him that I'm also a pretty laid-back and chill chick and if we ever went out (yeah right) he could actually take me places to have fun.

This isn't going to work. I'm going to be like a nun in a sex shop. And forget all of my general concerns about clubbing for a minute and let's move on to worrying about Mr. Sexy seeing me in said environment.

What if he sees me and I end up making an ass out of myself? That's a surefire way to get him to never speak to me again.

Okay, Hermione, just breathe. Stop this freaking-out, frizzy-stress-hair nonsense. The only thing you're getting out of this is a stomach ache. Just breathe, and reboot. Let's just go with Ginny on this one for now, and you can always back out at the last minute and decide not to go through with it.

That's a lie. Once I give Ginny the green light, she'll stop at nothing to make sure I enter that club dressed like a second-rate hooker and toss back drinks with the frequency of a scene boy flipping his bangs out of his eyes.

I decide to get up and go down to the Common Room to finish up McGonagall's nightly pile of torture. (Seriously. When I get the chiropractor bill entitled "Back Pain Cause By An Excessive Amount of Transfiguration Books and Homework Professor Minerva McGonagall Forced Hermione Granger to Carry Every Day," I'm sending it straight to her.) Sleep isn't the only thing that is evading me today. I haven't been able to focus on anything since the conversation with Ginny at breakfast. I'm kind of like a shell-shocked letter bomb recipient at the moment.

When I get to the Common Room, I see him.

There he is.

My letter bomb.

_He looked up at her as she came down the stairs. The moonlight shone in her hair, making her radiant beauty even more apparent. Suddenly, the only thing in his mind was her. Hermione. His books fell to the side, forgotten, as he rose from his chair, walking towards the staircase to await her at the bottom. She was stunning. As she neared the bottom step, he reached out a hand and pulled her towards him, crushing her body to his..._

Okay, stop.

No, really.

Stop with the Nora Roberts romance novel narration.

I place my textbooks and other homework supplies on the coffee table, seating myself on the couch. The Sexy Man is lounging with quill and textbook, looking hotter than ever.

I will not look at him. And I will not be the first to speak. He talked to you yesterday, Hermione. He broke the ice, and he'll probably talk to you again once he takes a break from homework or looks up or something. So just sit your butt down and do some Transfiguration, alright?

Placing your pillow down on a flat surface, wave your wand three times and...why isn't he talking to me? Make sure that you wave your wand in the proper circular motion, otherwise you will end up with a toad growing out of your elbow like Silas Warwick...I've definitely been down here long enough. It's a bit late for the "I didn't notice you" excuse now. The theory behind the transfiguration of a pillow into a coatrack was developed by...what the fuck? He talked to me yesterday, why not today? It is also said that many wizards wanted to transfer the incantation to another object since a pillow is a bit bulky...Maybe he's concentrating, Hermione. Maybe he's just busy doing his homework (which is what you should be doing) and doesn't really have time to chat. Okay? So shut up and buckle down and get this stupid essay done so you don't have to think about it anymore.

My self-chastising seems to work. I finish about half of the essay without any trouble. I just work continuously, transferring information from textbook to page, until I have almost everything I need. Working continuously, although slightly exhausting, has one advantage over all of the other strategies to tackle homework: it doesn't allow me to stop and think.

Unfortunately, I drop my quill right before I begin the second half of my essay, "Turning Lightbulbs Into Beverages" (there was a huge problem with this in class when students figured out that "beverages" covers quite a bit of ground. It wasn't until the end of the class that Professor McGonagall realized that Seamus Finnegan had gotten himself very wasted after transfiguring his lightbulb into a big mug of Guinness about 5 or 6 times). The minute I have to look away from what I was doing and pick up the quill, all of my earlier confusion about Draco's silence comes flooding back and my concentration is shot to shit.

I try (albeit unsuccessfully) to get back to work and finish my essay and not let the mystery of why boys do things get to me, but I am finally forced to give up and leave the Heads' chambers to find Ginny.

Ginny is in Gryffindor Tower, naturally, curled up in a plush red armchair with some homework while Harry and Ron fight over a game of chess a few feet away. ("You can't move your man there!" "Yes I can, it's not my fault you haven't learned that spell!" "Well then you should've taught it to me too to be fair! Now you have to take it back!" "No I don't!" "Yes you do!")

How anyone could ever have pinned those two as possible world saviors is far beyond my comprehension.

"Hey, Ginny? Can I talk to you for a minute? In private?"

Ginny looks up, a look of bewilderment on her face (which makes her even cuter, if possible. You know, some days I think I'm okay-looking, and then I see Ginny or Pansy and I just want to give up).

"We can go into my room," she says, and leads the way upstairs to the 6th year girls' dormitory. Because it's still relatively early in the evening, none of her roommates are up there, and we sit down on her bed Indian-style to talk.

"I don't think Draco Malfoy likes me," I blurt out the moment my ass hits the comforter.

"Excuse me?" Ginny stares at me in complete confusion.

"Remember how we were all excited yesterday because he talked to me and stuff and it wasn't an insult-filled conversation for the first time in like my entire life? Well, all that excitement and all those plans were for nothing. He didn't talk to me today at all and he had the opportunity to and he doesn't like me and we shouldn't do that clubbing thing because it's just going to fail miserably."

"Wait a minute. You came all the way to Gryffindor Tower and dragged me upstairs away from my homework to give me some 3rd year nonsense about how a boy doesn't like you just because he doesn't run over to talk to you every 30 seconds?"

Well, when you put it like that.

I feel stupid, oh so stupid. I feel stupid and brainless and dumb.

"Well now I just feel silly. But, I mean, come on Ginny, you're trying to help me create a relationship with a guy who has hated me for the past 6 years and who, may I add, is entirely out of my league. It's a little nerve-racking."

Ginny reaches over and touches my arm in a comforting gesture.

"Don't worry, Hermione. I'm not going to purposefully put you in a situation where he'll be the one in control. You are going to be in control of this whole clubbing thing. If you feel like you can talk to him, you will. If you feel like you can't, then you won't. I'm just helping you by putting you in what will hopefully be the right place at the right time."

Well that's nice.

But it still doesn't alleviate my fears about everything that could possibly go wrong.

"...I've begun developing a plan," she's saying when I finally come back down to Earth from Nightmare Land, where I'm throwing up over the side of the toilet in a bar bathroom while Draco and Pansy and their friends throw beer cans at me.

"Oh yeah?" I say, trying to look as though I've been paying attention the whole time.

"Yeah," Ginny says, smiling at me. "Now, when Draco goes out clubbing on the weekends, which is about once or twice a month, he goes to the same club, and Pansy almost never goes with him. It seems to be a "Guys' Night Out" kind of deal."

I'm nodding to show that I follow when a thought suddenly occurs to me.

"Ginny, how do you know this?"

"Huh? Oh, from listening to Theodore Nott's little brother talk about what he did over the weekend during potions class. The Notts have gone with Draco a few times."

Well that's just great. Theordore Nott is one of the most unintentionally creepy people I have ever met. He's a tall, reedy-looking boy who hardly ever opens his mouth and when he does you wish he hadn't.

I remember one particular incident in which I heard Theodore Nott speak in his weird scratchy voice and immediately wished he were mute. I was walking past Nott and a bunch of his cronies sitting on a bench in the courtyard. As usual, Nott was quiet, while his companions were loud. They were talking about someone-some girl, I believe-about how her family had recently been disgraced by her brother, who was trying to legalize marriage to goats or something like that-when suddenly, out of nowhere, Nott says loudly, "Yeah, but I'd still like to ram it up her ass a few times. Give her the hot beef injection."

It was at that moment that I suddenly had a burning jealousy of the deaf.

"I need more information," I say slowly.

"Of course," Ginny says hastily, and continues. "The club is the trendiest place in Diagon Alley-even YOU have to have heard of it, Hermione. Club Azkaban."

I'd like to pause here to make two comments:

1. No, I have never heard of it.

2. I am not that keen on going to a club named after the most heavily guarded and dangerous wizard prison in the world.

Thanks for listening.

Ginny must've caught the "no way" look in my face, because she stops talking for a minute and then says, "Come on, Hermione. There are no dementors or crazy skinny prisoners locked up in there. It's really really popular, and, from what I've heard, it's very well decorated."

Yes, I'm sure it is. But I don't want a dementor with my rum and coke.

Unfortunately, I don't think that my misgivings are going to stop Ginny, especially not when she's already making plans and stuff.

"Well," I sigh reluctantly, "go on."

"Oh good," she says, smiling. "So anyway, Draco is going there this Saturday night, and so are you."

And now for the question and answer part of the program.

"Well now that you're finished outlining that very well thought out plan for me Ginny, why don't you answer a few of my questions. First, how am I going to get to and from Diagon Alley, considering that I don't fly or apparate, second, do you expect me to go alone, because it's not happening, and third, do you really think Dumbledore will be okay with this, because I'm not so sure."

That last question isn't really a very good potential argument against going, considering the fact that Dumbledore smokes so much weed he'll probably spend the entire weekend in a cloud of purple haze listening to Jimi Hendrix and eating lemon drops while watching Half-Baked.

"I knew you were going to ask me questions like that, and I actually have some answers for you," Ginny says quickly. "You are going to take a Portkey to and from Diagon Alley, there are a few permanent ones lying around Hogsmeade and Diagon for just such purposes. I just have to find out where they are. No, I do not expect you to go alone, and to that end, I am going with you. And I'm not even responding to the third question because it is so you and that means overly cautious. Even if we DO get caught-which we won't-I don't really think Dumbledore will care too much. You're 17, an adult in the wizarding community, and 6th and 7th years are allowed to go out on the weekends, remember? It'll be okay."

At this point, she gets up and begins smoothing down her skirt. "Now I have a lot of homework to do and a nice ugly History of Magic test tomorrow, so you need to go back to your rooms and do your homework and calm down, okay Hermione?"

I nod and depart Gryffindor Tower, but calming down is the furthest thing from my mind.

I manage to get through the next two days without a nuclear meltdown, but as Saturday night looms closer and closer, I begin to have 24-hour butterflies. I can no longer go down to the Common Room when Draco is there because I get so nervous about our impending Saturday-night encounter that I can't speak. I know this for a fact because on Wednesday I'm quietly doing my homework down there alone when Draco comes in the room.

"Oh, hi Granger," Sex on Legs says, brushing off his Quidditch uniform and striding across the room to the kitchen.

I'd like to ride his broom. That Quidditch outfit definitely does him justice, what with the tight pants and the leather.

I'm just about to settle in for a good Stare-At-Draco's-Sexy-Bum session when he turns around and I have to discreetly wipe the drool off of my lower lip.

"What's up?" he asks nonchalantly, popping open a can of Sprite.

I open my mouth to carelessly and sexily say, "Nothing," but I suddenly find myself quite speechless.

"Close your mouth Granger, you'll catch flies," the Sex God says (good-naturedly? Is he insulting me? Ack I can't tell).

"Gotta go," I mumble, and with that, I grab my things and run upstairs at warp speed.

I am so embarrassed by this incident that I avoid him for the rest of the week. I make the mistake of telling Ginny about this over lunch.

"So you're avoiding Hot Stuff? And how many people will be affected by this?" she asks, giggling into her sandwich.

"So far, just the one," I mutter, feeling my face turn slightly pink. "But I'm optimistic. I refuse to see him until conditions improve."

And if conditions have not improved by Saturday, then I'm not going.

Wild horses couldn't drag me.

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**I'm sorry that** **took so long guys! But don't worry-this is the very last chapter before The Scene I've Been Leading Up To For Months. It might take a little while because I want to make it really good. I already have some ideas. Well please review!**

**Carrie Loves You If You Are Still Reading**


	18. Mr Big

-1**Originally, this was going to be the chapter you've all been waiting for. However, in light of that fact that this chapter is incredibly long, you are all going to have to wait until the next chapter, which I will begin writing immediately.**

**Put those pitchforks down. And you! Put down that torch! I mean it! I'm holding the manuscript in my hands-if you poke me to death you won't know what happens next!**

**Just kidding.**

**But really, there was no way I could get around writing this chapter, and it unfortunately had to be written.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and so on and so forth.**

**0000000000**

Unfortunately, the weekend does not fall into a black hole, like I'd hoped. Friday morning comes all too quickly, and before I know it I'm making my way downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast like a zombie.

This is it. The last normal day of my life. The day before I ruin everything by trying to make the hottest guy in the world (and quite possibly the universe) want me.

These thoughts must be evident on my face because when I plop down next to Ginny, she says, "Oh no. What's the matter now, Hermione?"

Le sigh.

"Ginny, I just really can't help but think that this is a silly plan. He's not going to think of me any differently and the only thing that tomorrow night is going to accomplish is giving people the chance to talk about what an ass I make of myself when I drink. I was ready for maybe some subtle in-the-library encounters, but definitely not this."

Now it's Ginny's turn to sigh.

"Hermione, we really need to get you out of your comfort zone. Whenever anyone thinks of you, the setting is always school or the library. If you really want Draco to see your fun-loving side, you have to be in the right environment. It's not the end of the world. You're just going out dancing with me, your best friend. Think of it like that. Two girls just going out to have a little fun on a Saturday night. You're not on Death Row."

Oh yes I am. Dead Woman Dancing.

But instead I ask, "Ginny, how do you even know what Death Row is? That's a Muggle thing."

"Dad brought home these books on Muggle criminals one time," Ginny replies. "He thought they were Muggle adventure bedtime stories."

After finishing our breakfasts, Ginny and I head out of the Great Hall together.

As we walk towards the classrooms, I notice Draco and Pansy standing in a little alcove off of the crowded hallway. Both of them look distinctly unhappy, and appear to be having a quiet yet heated discussion. I nudge Ginny.

"Ooh," she says quietly, "let's get closer and try to find out what they're fighting about."

"Do you really think they're fighting?" I ask her, and she gives me one of those don't-be-so-naïve-Hermione-were-you-born-yesterday looks. We push through the crowd and slowly make our way over.

"-just really wish you wouldn't, Draco! You haven't taken me out on an actual date in months, and yet somehow you always have time to go out to that stupid club and stare at stupid sluts with your stupid friends!" Pansy is whining quietly.

Wow, I guess Cosmo Girl couldn't come up with any other adjective besides "stupid." Kind of ironic, if you ask me.

"I take you on plenty of dates, Pans," Draco replies in equally hushed tones. "You just like to give me a hard time every single time I want to go out with my friends. We don't have to spend every Saturday night together, you know. And I would never cheat on you. You know that. You've just entered dangerous territory."

It is about at this moment that Draco looks up and realizes that his conversation is no longer private, what with 20 or so eavesdroppers pretending to be bottlenecked into that particular stretch of hallway listening in.

"We'll talk about this later," Hot Stuff says abruptly, and strides off before Cosmo Girl can say another word.

"Trouble in paradise?" Ginny remarks quietly. "This weekend may be more perfect than I originally thought."

By lunchtime, the entire school has heard at least some news about the argument between Pansy and Draco. With Hogwart's Super Couple on the rocks, the fight is all I hear about while I try to stomach my chicken noodle soup.

"I heard that Pansy is calling it quits," Lavender announces to anyone who's listening (meaning anyone who's close enough to hear her loud, obnoxious voice, the sound of which actually carries remarkably far). "She thinks that Malfoy spends too much time with his friends, which is a sign that he's afraid of commitment. If a guy hangs out with his male friends more than his girlfriend, the other guys will eventually convince him to be unfaithful. I read it in Witch Weekly."

"That's the stupidest thing I ever heard," Ginny cuts in. "Just because you read it in Witch Weekly doesn't make it true, Lavender. Witch Weekly is not infallible."

While Lavender is looking deeply offended, Parvati decides to put her two cents in.

"No, Lav, Pansy isn't the one breaking it off. Malfoy is. They've been together for how long-2 years? She never lets him see his friends and she doesn't appreciate how much time and energy he's put into their relationship. I heard"-she leans in conspiratorially- "that Pansy even cheated on him. Last year. And he FORGAVE her. And this is how she repays him? If I were Malfoy, I'd dump Pansy too."

"Parvati, you're only saying that because you want Malfoy to be back on the market so you can make a pass at him yourself," Ginny says acidly.

At this point, I decide to see if the conversation (if you could call it that-it's more or less just gossip slinging) can be rescued by at least some modicum of intelligence.

"You seem to have a lot of opinions today," I interrupt, looking pointedly at Ginny. At this, she slumps back into her seat and continues eating her salad quietly. I lean towards Lavender and Parvati. "Aside from the stuff about who's breaking up with who, are Pansy and the Sex-I mean-Malfoy actually breaking up?"

The Gossip Queens nod simultaneously. "Unless they fix whatever's going on," Parvati says in between bites of sandwich. "I think Malfoy's really mad that everyone knows about it. Pansy's been talking about it to everyone all day. There's a good chance he won't want to work it out with her now."

"Well, as much as I'd like to finish this stimulating conversation," Ginny says sarcastically, standing up from her chair, "I have a History of Magic test that I really need to be getting to. Hermione? Want to walk me? Don't you have a class in that direction?"

"Um, yeah. Arithmancy. Let me just get my stuff together." I lean down to grab my things and end up accidentally kicking one of my textbooks down a few chairs. By the time I straighten up, breathing heavily, it appears things topside of the table have taken a turn for the worse.

"-don't have to be such a bitch, Ginny," Lavender is snarling while Parvati sits beside her and nods like a bobble-head toy. "If you didn't want to talk about Malfoy and Pansy, you could've moved your seat. You didn't have to sit there and be mean to us."

I've just about had it with Lavender attacking people lately. First me about the whole Neville debocle, and now Ginny about being a little too snippy while Lavender and Parvati kindly dish the dirt for everyone's collective enjoyment.

Ginny opens her mouth to retort, but I beat her to it.

"You know what, Lavender? Not everybody wants to hear you repeat things you read in some stupid witches' magazine! Has Witch Weekly done quantifiable scientific studies on men? Do they follow them around and put them in test tubes to get these supposed 'facts' you're always spouting off? No, they don't. Not all men act like Witch Weekly says they do, and quite honestly, the reason why Malfoy and Pansy are breaking up is THEIR business, not yours or anyone else's. I don't blame Malfoy for being mad as hell that everyone knows about it, because now he has to go and deal with nitwits like you twisting the story and turning it into some whole Rita-Skeeter-style celebrity expose!"

"Well thanks for the shout-out, Granger," a drawling voice behind me says. "I had no idea you were such an upstanding citizen that you wouldn't even stoop to discuss the private business of someone you can't stand."

"I don't really think it was an impassioned defense of you, Malfoy," I reply scathingly, "so much as a general irritation with people who waste their time talking about things that don't matter, like your private business."

And with that, I grab Ginny's arm and yank her out of the Great Hall before that conversation can go any further.

"Wow, Hermione, you're awfully caustic today," Ginny remarks, her mouth twisting into a smirk.

"What, did you think I was just going to stand there and go gaga for him when he was clearly baiting me?" I ask.

"No, of course not," Ginny replies. "But your relationship with him has changed. Noticeably. It's like you both grew up overnight and decided to stop acting like little kids taunting the people they like on the playground."

"Do you really think so?" The idea is so obvious now that I can't believe I overlooked it.

"Yeah, I do," Ginny responds. "I think you have a real chance at some sort of relationship with him. I'm not sure as to the nature of the relationship, but something is definitely different."

Ginny's words stay with me for the rest of the day, and for the first time all week, I barely spare a second thought for my impending doom at Club Azkaban. Could Draco really like me? Could we possibly put aside all the pettiness that has plagued our relationship for the past years? Could we be friends, if not lovers?

I need to stop obsessing.

He's probably just matured. He's older now-he doesn't need to get off from making fun of other people all the time. He has a lot of things going for him-looks, grades, money, popularity-and he has stopped caring about people who have no effect on him at all. The only reason he talks to me is because I'm there, and I haven't been that antagonistic this year.

Liking someone is exhausting.

You spend all of your time thinking about them and overanalyzing their every word and move, from the way they walk past you in the hallway to the way they hold their salad fork. It's ridiculous. It should be made illegal to not tell other people how you truly feel about them. Playing emotional games with other people and their feelings gets you 25 to life in Azkaban. If you hate someone and don't tell them to their face, BOOM! You get arrested.

There's about as much a chance of that happening as there is for Ron Weasley to learn how to kiss.

I finally manage to silence my overactive brain by doing homework in the common room. Yes, I know it's a Friday night, but I don't want to leave all of my work until Sunday and then have to freak out and rush to finish it, like some people I know (cough the boy-who-gets-bad-grades-because-of-sheer-laziness and Sidekick Weasley cough).

I'm nearly done with my Potions essay on the use of chocolate in healing potions when the Sex God walks in, looking frustrated and a bit off his rocker.

He walks past me into the kitchen nook, and I sit there for a minute, listening to him clattering around with the dishes, cursing quietly to himself.

I have to say something to him. I can't just sit here and let him bang around angrily.

"What's crawled up your bum, Malfoy?" I blurt out.

Curse word vomit.

He comes to the doorway, red in the face.

"People suck, Granger," he informs me, and before I know it, I'm on the receiving end of a world-class Draco Malfoy rant. "I can't believe that people have nothing better to do other than talk about me. There's going to be rumors flying around everywhere and I can tell you right now not one of them will be close to the fucking truth. Why can't they just mind their own business? Is it so difficult-are their lives so goddamn boring that they have nothing pertaining to them to discuss over their sandwiches? If my and Pansy's business is the most exciting thing they have to talk about, that's just sad. And they don't even know what happened. Fucking gossip fiends."

He pauses for breath here and I figure it's a good time to insert some sort of comment.

"Well, what DID happen between you guys? Everyone's telling me different things, and I was just curious."

"We broke up, Granger," Malfoy snarls. "Is that what you wanted to hear? Merlin, it seems like all anyone cares about today is my business."

And with those words, he storms upstairs to his room and slams the door.

Wrong comment, I suppose.

I guess I pushed it a little too far. I wasn't trying to be nosy, I just wanted to hear the real story-what actually happened-from him. I should have commiserated with him, something like "Yeah, I really hate it when people do that," but noooo, instead I had to go and open my big fat mouth and ask him exactly what he didn't want to be asked. Way to be tactful, Hermione. The man just went through a break up and you're what, trying to be Oprah? And now he's going to think you're a complete busybody (on top of being Hogwart's notorious know-it-all), and he'll never open up to seeing you in a different light.

Tomorrow night is going to be a disaster.

Ron snatches my books off the table, throwing them to the floor. He triumphantly pulls a piece of parchment out from between the pages of my Transfiguration textbook.

"I KNEW IT!" he shouts gleefully. "I knew you failed your NEWTs! Now you're just as stupid as me!"

I look wildly around at the sea of faces surrounding us. Pansy, Draco, my elementary school crush-all of them are laughing at me. Suddenly, someone grabs my arm and starts shaking me.

"HERMIONE! HERMIONE! WAKE UP!"

It's Ginny, shaking me awake.

"Wha-okay, I'm up," I say crankily.

"Good," she snaps. "Took long enough. Today's the big day! We have a lot to do, so get up and get dressed. You already slept through breakfast, so first we'll go to the kitchens and get something to eat, and then we'll come back here and give ourselves mani-pedis, and then-"

"Wait, wait," I interrupt. "Gin, something happened last night that may throw a wrench into our plans. I really pissed Malfoy off."

"How?" she asks as she rifles through my bureau drawers. "My word, Hermione, do you have anything decent to wear? We can't send you out to the hottest club in wizard London dressed in your three-dollar old-man Hanes undershirts."

"Um, look in my closet. I put all of my old clothes that I don't really wear anymore in the bureau. And he came in, looking all tired and stuff, and he started going off on how people were nosy and they were talking about him and Pansy all day and that there would be a million rumors going around even though nobody knew the actual story, and I thought it would be a good opportunity to show him that I wasn't one of those people, so I asked what had really happened between him and Pansy and he got really mad and yelled at me and then ran upstairs to his room and slammed the door. " I pause here for a minute to catch my breath and to see if Ginny wants to yell at me for being such an idiot. When she doesn't say anything, I figure it's safe to continue. "But on the bright side, I heard it straight from his mouth that they broke up."

"Eh, he'll get over it," Ginny says nonchalantly, examining a grey sweater with a practiced eye. "He'll go out with his buddies tonight, he'll toss a few back, and he'll feel fine."

"Yeah, but, there's something I've been thinking about. Since he broke up with Pansy, that means the next girl who goes out with him or hooks up with him will be the Rebound Girl. I don't WANT to be Rebound Girl. Rebounds never last, and all the anger and pent-up feelings you had from your old relationship are just reflected back onto the rebound. Those kinds of relationships always break up because nobody has enough distance from their old relationship and is therefore dating the other person for very silly reasons."

I think it's a good point. I'm not looking to be Draco Malfoy's Next Quick Shag, I want to actually go out with him.

Although, I am not opposed to shagging the man and if the opportunity arose I would probably take it.

Just saying.

Ginny puts the sweater back in my closet and continues to go through my clothes. "That's true," she concedes. "But we're going to avoid that problem, see. You've never been in a relationship with anyone, so you won't be taking anything out on him. And it's not like we're trying to get him to ask you out tonight-we just want to show him your social, fun-loving side and get the ball rolling. Hopefully, he'll pick up some other poor, drunk, hapless slut and take it all out on her."

" 'Never been in a relationship with anyone'?! I've been in relationships-I resent that!"

Ginny turns to me and gives me a pitying look. "Okay, fine. Name one person you've had an actual relationship with. Not a date. A relationship."

I am suddenly at a loss for names, but I'm sure this is just a temporary glitch. Think, Hermione, think.

"What about Viktor Krum?" I ask, relieved at the fact that I can come up with a person. Granted, I can only come up with one, but who's counting?

"I don't know if I'd consider Viktor a relationship," Ginny says doubtfully. "You went to one ball with him, before which you spent most of your time complaining about how he was interrupting your studying by always being in the library with his fan club, and after which you guys had to default to being pen pals because he lives all the way in Bulgaria and can't even pronounce your name. He also had a last name that was the Eastern European spelling of the things that land on the plate while you eat a crunchy cookie."

Well, now that she went and told the truth.

"Okay, fine, you're right, I've never been in a relationship. But what about Draco? He's been dating Pansy, for what-two years or something like that. He'll definitely have things to take out on the next person he gets in a relationship with," I point out.

"Guys aren't like girls, Herms. I've watched my brothers break up with a lot of girls that they dated for a while and it only takes them a week or two to get over it and move on. Girls are bitchy. They hold on to things from their last relationship and compare their current boyfriend with their ex boyfriend and stuff like that. It also depends on the nature of the break up. Come on, put on a sweatshirt or something, I'm starving. You can talk and move, can't you?"

Merlin eating a hamburger. The girl is growing up to be just like her mother-bossy as hell.

It's not that I don't like Molly Weasley-she's a nice lady, a damn good cook, and a formidable parent to a number of unruly boys who will hopefully benefit from her punishments at some point. On the downside, however, she is awfully bossy, and quite nosy too. I'm STILL trying to forget the last dinner I had to eat in the presence of that woman.

In case you're wondering, the Unfortunate Dinner (yes, another one) happened right before I came back to Hogwarts. Now mind you, this was sometime around Ron's and my terrible kiss (I would honestly rather be kissed by a Dementor than lock lips with Ron ever again), and Mrs. Weasley, who is no fool, must've figured out somehow that something was going on between him and me. And after dinner, she decided, in Mrs. Weasley fashion, that she ought to say something to me about it.

"_Hermione, dear, could you come and help me with these dishes?" Mrs. Weasley called. _

"_Why is she calling me?" I whispered to Ginny. "She doesn't usually ask her guests to help her clean up. Next thing you know she'll be asking me to bring my own food and chair as well."_

_Ginny shrugged. "I dunno why she's calling you, Hermione. She probably wants to talk to you about something privately."_

_Great._

_I trudged into the kitchen, only picking up my feet when I was within sight of Mrs. Weasley. "Hey, Mrs. Weasley. Did you call me in here?"_

"_Yes, dear. Towels are over there on the rack. You don't mind, do you?"_

_Even if I did mind, would it really matter?_

_No. No, it wouldn't. Not even the Minister of Magic would be able to find a way to say "no" to Mrs. Weasley. It's impossible. _

_I picked up a towel and silently began to dry the dishes. _

"_Now, Hermione, being the smartest witch in school you may have guessed that I had an ulterior motive for calling you in here," Mrs. Weasley began. "But I've been noticing that Ron has been acting different around you lately. He's fancied you for quite a while now, you know. And I don't mean to pry-"_

_Yes, you do._

"_-but I just wanted to say, as a woman and a mother, that when you make a decision to go further in a relationship, you have to make sure you use protection. Hermione, dear, do you have any kind of protection for yourself?" she finished, eyeing me in a disconcerting way as she scrubbed a plate clean._

_You did not just ask me that. We are not having this conversation. _

"_I…um…." I was at a complete loss for words. _

_Somehow, the right answer came out of my mouth without me being quite aware of it._

"_Yes, of course Mrs. Weasley. I would naturally think everything all the way through before I made any of those kinds of choices."_

"_Well that's good dear," she replied, obviously relieved. She went back to washing the silverware. "Quite a few of us were hoping that you and Ron would end up together. That is, we were waiting for him to work up the courage to make a move!"_

_Oh god. Is my future actually being decided by a family of red-headed busybodies (Mrs. Weasley , Bill, Charlie, and Percy) and morons (Ron, Fred, George, and occasionally Mr. Weasley)? _

_I managed a weak laugh. "Well, we'll see how everything goes, Mrs. Weasley. We have a big year ahead of us at school, what with NEWTs and all."_

"_Yes, yes of course dear," Mrs. Weasley beamed. "Go on, now, everyone's in the den. I'll be out with dessert in a bit."_

I'm still trying to forget that ever happened.

"Earth to Hermione! Let's go, I'm hungry!" Ginny's halfway out the door, motioning me to follow her.

Ginny and I spend what's left of the morning getting food from the house elves (Dumbledore still offers to pay all newcomers a wage, what a thoughtful man) and pigging out in the common room while watching episodes of "Sex and the City."

"I wish I had a little more Samantha in me," I say wistfully to Ginny.

"What, you wish you were a little sluttier?" she snorts in reply.

"No, more confident. She sees a guy, and even if they have nothing in common, she goes after him anyway. Like that farmer guy, in that episode where Carrie convinces her to come up and visit Aidan's country shack thing. Samantha just walks across the barnyard or whatever, makes up some story about how she wants a farm too, and gets the guy! Just like that! I'd still be sitting at the window, watching him plow things."

"Your point being that you'd be watching him plow manure instead of you?" Ginny asks, smirking as she says it.

"Exactly. I hang back too much. I let other girls go after guys. The only things I go after are top grades."

"This is just the kind of attitude that is going to make tonight work out perfectly," Ginny informs me. "You need to think like this more, Hermione. This is good for you. Think positively."

The Sex God, the wizard equivalent of Mr. Big, decides to make his appearance at the exact moment that I have begun to feel even more empowered by Ginny's support and during one of Samantha's many sex scenes.

At first, he walks by, with barely a glance at us and the television.

That glance was clearly all he needed.

Draco Malfoy does such a quick double-take that I'm surprised he doesn't have severe whiplash. He backs up, moves closer to the couch and says in disbelief, "Are you watching porn, Granger?"

"What? No! It's 'Sex and the City,'" I inform him quickly, and Ginny nods vigorously in order to back me up.

" 'Sex and the City'?" He asks, looking adorably confused. (And yes, I know, he could shave his head, dye his scalp puke-green, and do Carrot Top impressions and he'd still be adorable.) "What the hell is 'Sex and the City'? It sounds like a woman's show."

"Well, it IS a woman's show, braniac," I reply. "It's a Muggle show, and it's about…well….it's about 4 friends and their lives in New York City."

"Mainly their _sex_ lives," Ginny puts in.

It's kind of weird explaining "Sex and the City" to the Sex God. It goes hand in hand with explaining sex to a 5 year old-a situation that feels a bit embarrassing but is mostly just strange.

"Well, how would I know about a Muggle show for women, _braniac_," His Holy Sexiness retorts. "Although I must say it sounds a bit more interesting than the usual crap they have for women to watch. Better than "Dawlish Creek" or whatever that show was."

"Malfoy, how do you know about 'Dawson's Creek'?" I ask in sheer amazement. These wizards and their Muggle knowledge. They know more than you think.

"It's my Muggle Studies professor's favorite show," the Sex God responds. "She brought it up a million times when we talked about television last week. She even made us watch an episode in class. It was the worst show I've ever seen. I was so bored I fell asleep."

I'm not really sure how to respond to this, so I stay silent for a few minutes.

"This show looks more entertaining," Draco announces after a few moments, and then, to my utter surprise (and horror) , he plops himself down in the easy chair.

I am suddenly very aware of the fact that I am sitting in my penguin pajama pants holding a pizza crust to my face, surrounded by crumb-covered plates which only serve as evidence of the fact that I've spent the past hour eating like a linebacker.

I look over at Ginny.

She widens her eyes at me.

I'm sure this is supposed to mean something, but for the life of me I can't figure it out.

Open your eyes? Watch the show? What the hell is Malfoy doing? Talk to him?

"What?" I mouth at Ginny, who just keeps making the weird eyes.

It takes me all of 30 seconds to get fed up.

"Ginny, I have no idea why you're widening your eyes at me, but I can't read your mind," I snap.

Ginny drops her face into her hands and shakes her head.

To my utter surprise, instead of getting up and running away screaming, "GIRLY ANTICS!" like I thought he would, Draco Malfoy bursts out…laughing.

Ginny and I stare at him in complete shock.

"Merlin, Granger, for all your brains you really do lack subtlety," he finally chokes out.

Is that an insult or a compliment? Or is it a back-handed compliment? Or is it an acknowledgement of fact and an insult?

Shut up, brain.

"I should really stop eating," Ginny says, putting down a pie crust. "I won't be able to fit into my outfit for tonight. You should stop eating too, Hermione."

She's right. In my "Sex and the City" marathon fervor, I'd forgotten that tonight is not a night I want to deal with bloating, popping zippers, and the temporary love handles that occasionally result from eating too much and having a movie marathon with your girlfriends. I don't want to have to default to outfits I don't like as much just because I couldn't put down the fork.

"What are you guys doing tonight? Going out on dates or something?" the sexy thing in the easy chair asks without taking his eyes off the screen.

I'm trying to think of a politically correct and non-stalkerish way of telling him that we're going to the exact same place he's going on the exact same night he likes to go when I realize that Ginny has decided (as usual) that I'm being much too slow on the uptake and takes matters into her own hands.

"We're going to this club in Diagon Alley," she says, smiling wickedly at me.

"Oh really? Which one?" Draco asks, his interest clearly peaked a little.

"Um..Club Azkaban? We heard from someone that it was really fun, and we definitely don't want to hang around Hogwarts on a Friday night," Ginny informs him.

I should definitely let Ginny take the reins more often. She really is a good friend, even if she's a wee bit bossy and sometimes lets action precede thought.

"Oh, I'm going there too," Draco says. "It is really fun. I don't go too often-I don't want it to get old and boring."

This is one of those conversations where your friend is talking to the guy you like and you're trying to figure out a way to jump into the conversation but you can't seem to get a word in edgewise because, well, you don't have anything much to contribute and nobody is giving you an opportunity to say anything.

"Yeah-my brother used to go to some club all the time. The novelty wore off pretty fast and it didn't take long for him to not want to go anymore," Ginny replies, and then looks thoughtful. "I think that's maybe why Mum let him do it in the first place."

"Your brother? Don't you have like…9?" Draco asks.

A knock on the door cuts Ginny off from whatever reply she was about to make.

"That must be Blaise. I'll get it," Draco says, popping out of the easy chair and walking over to the door.

Ginny's giving me a thumbs up when I hear Draco say, "Oh. Hi, Pansy."

He steps back from the door and glances over to where Ginny and I are pretending like we aren't listening.

"Can we talk?" Pansy asks, stepping inside. As usual, she looks insanely stunning with her black hair teased to perfection and her toothpick legs encased in leggings, over which she's wearing some striped shirtdress that would look ridiculous on anyone else.

I am suddenly very conscious of the fact that I'm dressed in dirty jeans and an oversized sweatshirt.

"I, um," she begins, and then stops when she sees us. "Oh. I don't want to talk with Beaver and Weasel here."

Nice to see you too, Pansy. Always a pleasure. No, really. You're not interrupting. Yes, you've caught us at a bad time. Next time we're playing "What Animal Do You Resemble?" I'll be sure to let you know.

"Well I actually don't have much time," Draco says in a rather snotty tone and without bothering to acknowledge her previous comment. "Blaise is coming over in a little while. I actually thought you were him. Besides, don't you have some gossip party to be at?"

Pansy looks down at her perfect ankle boots, properly ashamed. "Look, Draco, I'm sorry. If I could just talk to you for a few minutes…"

Ginny and I raise our eyebrows at each other. Dracolicious and Cosmo Girl seem to have quite forgotten we're in the same room hanging on to every word.

Normally, I'd tap Ginny's arm quietly and motion her to leave the room with me due to my relatively high moral standards, but my future romantic life is at stake here.

Don't give in, Sex God. Don't give in to those perfect proportions and flawless features.

I'm practically crossing my fingers in favor of a nasty showdown involving Pansy Parkinson running away crying and getting what she justly deserves for being such a snake to everyone.

"I guess you can come by tomorrow then," Draco's saying. "I'll be hanging out with Blaise all afternoon and then we're going out, so I don't really have time for you and your bullshit today."

Damn it.

Blaise Zabini could not have picked a more perfect time to show up.

"Hey guys," he says staring at all of us strangely.

I imagine we do make a pretty odd scene: Cosmo Boy and Cosmo Girl beginning the make-up process after a huge fight while two Gryffindors pretend not to listen in the background.

"Hey Blaise," Draco says. "Pansy was just leaving. Come on in. I'll see you tomorrow then Pansy."

She nods and walks away slowly, and Blaise steps into the room.

"What was she doing here, Draco? Why are you seeing her tomorrow? Way to remain a fortress of solitude."

Draco turns around and Ginny and I snap our heads back to the television and pretend to be completely engrossed in watching….credits.

My timing really needs to improve.

"Let's go up to my room," the Sex God says warily, and leads Blaise up the stairs and out of sight.

Once the door clicks shut, Ginny looks over at me.

"What was THAT all about? All that 'fortress of solitude' crap?"

I shrug. "I dunno, Ginny. Maybe Blaise doesn't want them to get back together or something. Who cares?"

Honestly, this is no time to sit around and try to figure out the subtleties of males supporting each other during a breakup. Pansy and Draco broke up. That's really all that counts in my book. And as long as they don't get back together and he suddenly has a major mental shift and goes out with me, everything will remain a-ok.

Ginny and I spend the rest of the afternoon painting our nails and talking about boys. While I don't usually waste my time on being frivolous and girly, I generally enjoy myself until about 6:30pm, when Ginny Weasley suddenly morphs into General Patton.

"Oh shit! It's 6:30 already?! Why weren't you paying attention to the time, Hermione? We have a lot to do! Get in the shower! Go, go, go!"

I open my mouth to protest the sudden and almost frightening change of Normal Ginny into a drill sergeant, but she shoves a towel in my face and my words are muffled by terrycloth.

"Come on!" she orders. "No time for protests and explanations-we have a lot to accomplish before we go. We still have to pick out your outfit! Hurry-take the fastest shower you can and don't forget to shave your legs!"

And with that, I've been pushed into the bathroom and the door is slamming in my face.

I always shave my legs. Come on, I know I'm not the girliest of girly girls but give me some credit for not being a complete troll. Jeez.

My (normally peaceful) shower is interrupted by bursts of furious knocking and shouts of, "Hurry up Hermione! I have to shower too, you know! We don't have much time, hurry it up in there!"

I finish my shower in a record 15 minutes, and hobble out of the shower, ankles smarting from the fight they got in with my razor (the ankles lost). Ginny is standing in my room in front of my closet, tapping her foot impatiently.

"Finally! Okay, I found this book in the library that gives you a spell for changing the look of your clothes."

"Really?" I ask, wondering why I didn't know of this before.

"Yeah," she says. "Now, I'm a little fuzzy on the details, but you can only change the style of your clothes, not what they actually are. So, like, you can't change a shirt into pants. You can only change a shirt into a different style of shirt."

She's about to continue, but I cut her off.

"Wait a minute. First of all, when did you find out about this? Secondly, what do you mean, you're 'a little fuzzy on the details?' You're not supposed to fool around with spells when you don't know everything that can happen with them Ginny. And finally, you want to fool around with this TONIGHT? Wouldn't it have been better to tell me about this earlier?"

Ginny looks properly put in her place for a moment. "Well I forgot about it, sorry. I found it last week. And it's just to alter the look of your clothes. You're the best witch in the school, Herms. I'm sure you can handle a little clothes-changing spell."

Twenty minutes later, I discover the only thing I seem to be lacking when it comes to this spell is imagination.

"It's a rock club, Hermione," Ginny says in an exasperated voice. "Try to come up with something besides what Grandma would wear to her ladies' luncheon."

"I have no idea what people wear to rock clubs, Ginny," I retort. "Why don't you do this?" I throw her an old t-shirt. "Here. Practice on this shirt so you don't mess up any of the clothes I actually wear in public."

She wrinkles her nose in irritation. "Well alright. Go and dry your hair."

I do this as quickly as possible so as not to leave Ginny alone with my clothes and her wand for too long. When I come back, however, there are no holes in the wall or burning shreds of clothing, like I expected. There are only a few articles laid out neatly on my bed, with Ginny standing triumphantly alongside them.

"Okay, I changed only a few of them to give you some options but not enough to make you over think everything, like you always do," she says.

Oh please. I don't over think anything.

As I survey the clothes on the bed, I wonder what style Draco's into. The black straight-legged jeans that would make my legs look toned? The dark blue denim skirt and black leggings that would make my legs look longer? The tight-looking black and white striped tank top that would make my boobs look bigger? The fashionably torn up black Motley Crue sleeveless t-shirt that also would make my boobs look bigger? The green and white striped long-bodied tank top that would clearly make my torso look longer? If I can only wear one outfit in front of the Sex God to make a good impression, which one should it be? What kind of impression do I want to make?

"I can see you over thinking," Ginny cuts in accusingly. "Now, I know you all too well, and I know you're thinking about what kind of impression you want to make on him."

Not only did she inherit the Molly Weasley bossiness, but she also got that woman's scary ability to sometimes read your mind.

"I want to show him that I'm effortlessly fabulous and I'm just as gorgeous and fashion-conscious as Model-In-Training Pansy Parkinson," I reply.

"Well in that case," Ginny says, "I would suggest the black leggings, denim skirt, and the green tank top. That and your black Converse low tops will give off an edgy, fashion-conscious rock star impression. So put that on, and we'll straighten your hair and do your makeup."

She walks over to my vanity as I begin to put on my clothes. "Now where's your makeup?"

"I don't have any," I reply. "This bra makes my boobs look weird in this shirt. And get that horrified look off your face. Not everyone showers in concealer every morning a la Lavender Brown. Do you think this bra makes my boobs look pointy in this shirt?"

Ginny turns and squints. "No…oh wait. Yeah, I see what you mean. You need a more rounded bra. Your boobs look like torpedoes right now." She leans down and grabs a normal looking black bra off the floor. "Here," she says after a quick examination to make sure UK Sub Breasts will not result from this bra.

"And make sure you don't wear your granny panties!" she calls after me as I retreat into a corner of the room to finish changing. "Damn, you don't have much makeup. And most of it looks really old and gross. Okay, well I guess we can just use mine. Accio makeup bag!"

I am just lucky enough to have finished changing and begun walking over to my vanity when Ginny's makeup bag comes flying into the room and smacks me in the face.

Remember what I said before about unfortunate timing? It doesn't just apply to scenarios with Draco Malfoy in them. It applies to everything.

"Ouch! Dammit. Wow, that really hurt." I dazedly bend down to pick up the scattered eyeliner pencils and eyeshadow containers, still blinking the spots out of my vision.

"Oh, sorry," Ginny says, hurrying over to help me. "Oh damn, it left a mark. If we don't cover that up everyone's going to think someone punched you in the face. Come on, sit down."

Great. Now I have a black eye. Of course it happens on this night. Any other night when I'm NOT DOING ANYTHING IMPORTANT wouldn't have been appropriate.

"So now we just have to do your makeup and straighten your hair, and then I'm going to throw myself in the shower and get dressed and ready and stuff," Ginny's saying as she applies generous amounts of concealer to my now swelling cheekbone.

"I'm not sure how I want to do it yet, though," she continues, and I get the impression that my input (just some concealer and mascara, thank you) is not necessary or wanted.

"I better not come out looking like an Olsen twin clown," I warn her, and she giggles. (My Muggle celebrity jokes were lost on Ginny until I finally forced her to sit down with a stack of People magazines and go through them last year. Those kinds of magazines really are depressing. They only serve to remind women of the clothes they can't afford and the bodies they can't possibly attain without a trainer and some Photoshop.)

While Ginny dithers over eyeliner pencils versus liquid eyeliner, I lean over, grab my wand, and put on my Third Eye Blind CD. If I have to sit here and be a mannequin, I at least ought to have some good music to listen to.

I'm inwardly dancing (this is what happens when you're under orders to "NOT MOVE UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES OR I WILL HEX YOU INTO NEXT WEEK!") to "London" when I realize that horrible things are coming out of Ginny's mouth.

"-kind of invited some other people," she's saying, as she finally settles on some eyeshadow colors and begins walking back over to me. "

"Like who?" I ask suspiciously.

"Well, like…Luna Lovegood."

Note: I don't dislike Luna Lovegood. She's a fine person, if you want to hang around someone who was born full of air and later injected with a syringe full of "Eccentrically Daft" to correct the problem.

And I don't want to be having the Snorcackle conversation while I'm trying to be fabulous.

"Ugh…Merlin…why?"

"Because I thought it looked a little TOO suspicious that we were heading to Club Azkaban the same night the Sex God is. Besides, everyone knows that three girls plus a club minus male company equals Girls' Night Out."

Is it just me, or do Ginny, Lavender, and Parvati eat their soup with a helping of Witch Weekly's "Dumbest Ideas About Men and Women" a little too often?

Ginny can apparently sense my (obvious) unhappiness with the situation, and attempts to shut me up by submitting me to what feels like hours of tiny poking by a makeup brush.

"NO, Hermione-for Merlin's sake, DON'T open your eyes yet! Just a few more seconds-stop moving or I'm going to mess the damn thing up!"

"Ginny, if you keep poking me with that stupid thing I am going to turn it into a pixie and laugh as it chases you out of the room!"

This seems to hurry her up a bit.

"THERE! Done-no no no, don't look yet! I still have to do your hair!"

After an eternity of sitting in the chair being poked, pulled at, and styled, she finally lets me look.

I turn to the mirror.

What the…

"Do you like it? You look great. You should wear makeup more often," Ginny babbles happily as she begins to put away her instruments of torture.

"What the hell, Ginny? Fifteen minutes and the end result is me looking like Amy Winehouse after a teasing comb attack?"

Not only has my hair been teased to give it more volume (not the part I have a problem with-it actually looks kind of alright and was somehow magically straightened), but Ginny's given me black cat eyes (the part I have the problem with).

"I look like a prostitute! I'm going to walk in that club and get dollar bills thrown at me! Heavy on the makeup much?"

"It's just because you're not used to yourself with it, that's all," Ginny soothes, and it quickly becomes obvious that my words are falling on deaf ears. "Alright-I'm just gonna go hop in the shower and get ready. Would you run along to Ravenclaw and make sure Luna still wants to come? I don't want her to make us late-you know how absentminded she is."

I'd say "absentminded" is putting it nicely.

"Yeah, sure, I guess," I reply, and wander out of my room and down into the common area.

I'm halfway to the door when-

"What's goin' on lady?"

An unearthly and unattractive shriek flies out of my mouth before I can stop it.

A (slightly drunk?) Blaise Zabini is leering at me from his spot on the couch, and…yep, the Sex God Of Everything Sexy is sitting the easy chair just a few feet away.

"Oh Merlin, sorry Granger," Zabini says, reverting his attention back to a glass that smells of potent liquor. "We thought you were someone else."

Okay, Hermione. Take a deep breath. Now, play it fabulous. You are hot. You are a hottie from Hottingham. Go.

"S'alright, Zabini," I answer in my very best "I'm-a-hot-chick-and-I-don't-care" voice. I motion to his glass. "Drink much?"

"How could you tell?" he asks stupidly, clearly surprised by the fact that Hermione Granger knows that alcohol exists.

"I could smell it from here," I reply. "Next time-"

"Oh come on Granger," the Sex God says, speaking for the first time. "Don't play the killjoy. We're not doing anything, we're just sitting here quietly."

Hermione "Hotness" Granger closing in for the kill.

"I wasn't going to say anything like that, Malfoy," I reply in my most scathingly sexy tone. "I was going to say that next time, Zabini, maybe you should get a bigger glass."

PWND.

AND WHAT.

Now, being the fabulous person that I am, I will get the hell out of this room as fast as possible before I melt into a puddle of eyeliner and teased hair due to the Sex God mind-blowing, well…sexiness.

I walk out as quickly as fabulousness dictates, and then I find the nearest dark alcove and savor the visual.

Just imagine: Draco Malfoy, platinum blonde hair, a killer body, perfect Adonis features, tight jeans, Doc Martens, a studded belt, and a tight Witch Burning black t-shirt.

Yeah.

Now you know why I'm standing in this alcove, resisting the urge to shove my hand down my leggings and masturbate.

After a few moments of just standing there, I decide to ignore my clitoris and go find Luna.

I get back to my room about half an hour later, having barely escaped a conversation about Horn-Rimmed Humbugs and their uses in Sleeping Potions.

I really need to go to the library and look up some sort of "mute" spell.

Ginny's sitting at my vanity, wearing a short black skirt with a zipper up the front and a tight black and white striped tank top, paired with a pair of very flattering tight knee-high black boots.

"Is she coming?" she asks, as she carefully lines her eyes with a black kohl pencil.

"Yeah," I reply, doing my best not to sound disappointed. "I ran into Draco and Blaise Zabini in the common room, drinking. Damn, Draco's hot."

Ginny giggles. "Blaise isn't too bad either. I'd hit it."

"Really? What about Harry? I thought you two were all, you know, into each other and whatnot."

She puts the pencil down and looks at herself in the mirror one last turn before turning around.

"Yeah, I don't know about that. That whole Atlas-complex…so not sexy."

"Oh. Well I guess I can see why that would be a turn off. Must be hard to get it up when the world's weighing you down," I reply, and Ginny snorts in a very unladylike manner.

"It's a good thing you broke up with Ron when you did," she says mid-giggle. "I've heard from some other girls that he shoots the spell before he works the magic, if you know what I mean."

I have to laugh at this. I know Ron is supposed to be one of my good friends and all, but I've never gotten the impression that he's any good in bed. With some guys, you can just tell that they suck in the sack, and not in a good way. This suspicion was later confirmed when I overheard Hannah Abbot telling Susan Bones that Ron in bed resembled a blind Chaser trying to get the Quaffle in.

Ginny has obviously not heard any of this information, because when I tell her she stares at me, wide-eyed.

"My brother and…HANNAH ABBOT? Are you kidding?"

"No, I heard it straight from her mouth. And it didn't sound like a pleasant experience, so I don't think she'd be making it up."

Ginny bursts into laughter.

"You'd really think that with FIVE older brothers he'd know where to put it!" she howls. "And with HANNAH ABBOT-yuck!"

The fact that Ron hooked up with Hannah Abbot makes me feel even worse about our tiny kiss, and my mild crush on him.

"Let's stop talking about it, okay?" I plead. "I feel worse with every sentence."

"What? Why?" Ginny asks, trying to regain her composure. "Oh, because you kissed him? Well, don't feel bad, Hermione. Everybody makes mistakes. Now come on, let's go get Luna and head over to the Forbidden Forest."

I've spent the last 10 minutes trying unsuccessfully to fit my wand into my purse.

I've also spent the last 10 minutes giving myself a stomach ache by getting more and more nervous about tonight.

I hope Theodore Nott isn't there. I hope Draco pays attention to me. I hope he doesn't see other guys dancing with me. I hope I don't fuck everything up. I hope this goes okay. I hope this goes okay.

We haven't even made it to the Portkey yet.

"Tell me again why we're going into the Forbidden Forest dressed in skimpy tank tops and miniskirts?" I whisper to Ginny, who's rummaging through her purse.

"Because that's where the Portkey is," she hisses. "My brothers told me that in their first year, some of the seventh years put a Portkey to Diagon Alley in the forest so the younger years wouldn't accidentally find it and be transported off the grounds."

The "brothers" she's referring to have to be Fred and George. They're the only two Weasleys besides Ginny clever enough to find out something they weren't meant to know.

We've nearly made it to the Ravenclaw dormitories when…

"Oh shit!" Ginny says, and stops so suddenly that I bump into her. "Ron and Harry are talking to Terry Boot! Damn it! If Ron sees me dressed like this he'll know I'm going somewhere and he'll run back to Gryffindor to write Mum faster than you can say 'Quidditch'!"

And if Ron writes Mrs. Weasley about Ginny, he'll be more than happy to include me in the letter as well, probably spinning the angle to make it look like we were both off the work the corner.

Great.

"How long are we going to hide in this corner?" I whisper to Ginny, and she shushes me with a wave of her hand.

"We can't let them see us!" she whispers. "If they see us, we'll both be getting Howlers from Mum that just scream out 'SCARLET WOMAN!' in the Great Hall for hours."

She has a point.

Ginny and I remain squished uncomfortably in the alcove like a can of sardines for what seems like an eternity.

I just hope nobody walks by and sees us stuffed in here together. That'll get the Hogwarts gossip mill rolling.

Finally, Ron and the boy-who-can't-get-it-up walk away from Terry, heading back for the Gryffindor dorms.

Well there go two people whose egos have been inflated a little too much for their own good.

Ginny and I practically run to the Ravenclaw dorms and grab Luna as fast as we can. The boy-who-lived-to-cause-delays and his sexually inexperienced sidekick have nearly made us late for the "ladies get in for free" time frame offered by the owners of Club Azkaban.

The two of us drag Luna down to the Forbidden Forest, amidst cries of "Why are we walking so fast?" and "Wait, I could've swore I saw a Crumple-Horned Wigwam!"

"There's the Portkey!" Ginny cries in triumph, drowning out something Luna's saying about Dingleberry Fairies. "Let's go!"

We lean forward, touch the Portkey (which happens to be a very mossy-looking old sneaker), and with the familiar tug somewhere behind our navels, we are off to Diagon Alley.

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**NEXT TIME: Club Azkaban. And some more tangible occurrences between the Sex God and Hermione that will really get the ball rolling.**

**Read and review.**

**Carrie**


	19. Author's Note

-1**I replaced the content in Chapter 18 with the actual chapter, so make sure you go back and read it.**

**I will not do this with this chapter. This chapter will stay an author's note. **

**I am not sure if you guys get email alerts about content being changed, so I am writing this to tell you: GO BACK AND READ CHAPTER 18.**

**Alright, this won't happen again, I made a technical mistake, sorry guys.**

**-Carrie**


	20. Club Azkaban

-1**Once again, I apologize for the delay in the posting of this chapter. It took longer to get to this point than I thought, and I didn't like the idea of rushing through everything and leaving things out.**

**Thank you for all of your lovely reviews, and don't be afraid to make suggestions and ask questions, as always. You may notice something or think of something I didn't, and I appreciate your input.**

**I would ask just a few more seconds of your time for the following notes.**

**CLARIFICATION: There was some confusion at the end of the chapter, where I wrote "Ron and the boy-who-can't-get-it-up." Ron is sexually inexperienced and blows his load early, and Harry can't get it up, mostly due to his hero complex and other emotional impotence problems like that. I have not decided if I will discuss these in further detail, although there is a good chance that I will touch on Harry's problems in reference to his relationship with Ginny as we get further into the story.**

**REMINDER: If you haven't gone back and read Chapter 18 yet, I would advise doing so before you read this chapter.**

**EXPLANATION: Hermione is drinking in this chapter. Since she's the one doing the narration as you all know, I definitely tried to make the story reflect how much alcohol she has in her. If any other clarifications on that subject are needed, bring on the questions.**

**WARNING: This chapter contains mature subject matter. I am not advocating any kind of behavior. **

**MUSIC YOU WILL NEED FOR THIS CHAPTER: "This Fire"-Franz Ferdinand**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't have much to say here. You know what's up concerning ownership and rights and boring crap like that. **

**That should be it. **

**I'll let you know if there's anything else.**

**0000000000**

Club Azkaban is something straight out of a Hollywood film set.

There are two muscle-bound bouncers dressed in tight black t-shirts and loose-fitting black pants keeping watch on the door and the line, which wraps around the side of the building and is cordoned off by a black velvet rope. As Ginny, Luna, and I make our way towards the back of the line, I crane my neck for a glimpse inside the black-tinted glass doors, and catch the sounds of pulsating music and a flash of an eerie green light.

About halfway down the line, I spot the Sex God, Blaise Zabini, Theodore Nott (oh goody), and one other boy I don't recognize standing around, chatting idly and waiting to get in.

Ginny must've spotted them too, because next thing I know, I'm being herded along with Luna towards them.

"Hey guys," Ginny says, and all four of them turn to look at her. "Mind if we cut the line and stand with you?"

The boys shrug nonchalantly and the three of us duck under the rope and pop up next to them.

Closer up, I notice that His Holy Hotness looks irritated.

"This is ridiculous. Malfoys don't wait in line," he suddenly snaps. "I'm going to the front. Watch for me."

And with that, he ducks under the rope and heads towards the bouncers and the front doors, leaving the rest of us to stand there awkwardly.

I turn to Ginny to ask her what exactly I'm supposed to do with my wand since it doesn't fit in my stupid purse, but I'm cut off by Blaise.

"Come on, let's go, Drake's waving at us," he says, and once again I find myself herded forward and up to the front of the line, amidst shouts of, "Back of the line motherfucker!" and "Hey, that's not fair. I've been standing in this blasted line for 45 goddamn minutes!"

After a quick glance at the boys' IDs (the bouncers mysteriously do not check any of the girls' IDs, must remember to ask Ginny about this later), the bouncer nods and the doors to Club Azkaban open for us.

"Those doors are charmed to only open for people the bouncers decide to let in," Ginny tells me in a slightly raised voice as we enter the club.

"Why didn't they check our IDs?" I ask her.

"Because we're girls," she replies in a "duh" tone of voice. "Bouncers usually just let girls in because they want the ratio of girls in the club to exceed that of the boys and to attract more people to the club. It's a money thing."

The inside of Club Azkaban is, to say the least, impressive. It goes along perfectly with my notion of clubs, which has mostly been created by watching too many movies at home during the summer.

Green lights line the walls, giving the club an almost eerie look. The walls look like they're made of big gray concrete bricks, supposedly to go along with the prison theme. The bar, which is set on the left side of the room, is also lit by these lights, and I can spot bartenders dressed in raggedly fashionable black clothes (obviously their uniform) serving those waiting for their drinks. The right side of the club is the dance floor, with a DJ dressed in the same uniform, spinning all the catchy rock and roll hits known to both wizards and muggles. The two sides of the room are split down the middle by a metal staircase, which leads up to the lounge area. By craning my neck, I can see that all of the tables in the lounge area are metal, and each table is separated from the others by metal bars resembling a jail cell. All around me, people dressed in their most fashionable and provocative rock gear are walking, dancing, drinking, talking, smoking, and just in general having a good time and trying to get laid.

I'm so busy taking everything in that it takes me a few seconds to realize that the boys have disappeared and Ginny is pulling me towards the bar.

"Let's get a drink!" she says loudly, leaning in towards my ear.

"Is it even legal for us to drink in here?" I ask. The last thing I want is to be thrown out 2 seconds after I get inside.

"Of course it's legal!" she shouts back. "You're an adult in the wizarding world, Herms. And even if you weren't, you live in England, remember? You don't have to be 21 to drink. This isn't America. Now stop being an anally moral McGonagall and let's go get a damn drink! It'll help relax you."

That convinces me. I really need to relax. I am so nervous I have actually given myself a stomachache.

This is good. I'll give myself an ulcer whilst in pursuit of the Sex God. Well you know what they say about pain and romance (and by "they" I mean Elle Woods in _Legally Blonde_). I can just see it now…

_She doubled over in pain, her stomach swollen and tender. He crouched beside her, concern etched onto his chiseled features._

"_Hermione! What's wrong?" he asked, the quiver in his voice giving away his feelings._

"_I..gasp…there's a terrible pain…gasp…in my stomach. I-I have an ulcer, Draco. I can't hold on much longer…"_

"_HERMIONE! NO! DON'T LEAVE ME! I LOVE YOU" he shouted, but he could see she was fading fast…_

"HERMIONE! What do you want to drink?"

Then again, maybe not.

I don't really think I'll be going out the dramatic-sickness way, _Moulin Rouge_ style.

Oh well. It was worth a shot.

"Um, I don't know," I reply.

The bartender, a gorgeous young woman with fashionably smudged eye makeup, gives me a dirty look and says, "Dementor's Kiss is on the house. Ladies drink for free until 2am."

Ginny looks at me, nodding, and I shrug at the bartender, who seems more than a little relieved to not have to deal with my spaciness and indecision any longer.

It suddenly occurs to me that I have no idea what I just agreed to drink for free.

I lean over to Ginny.

"What's a Dementor's Kiss? And don't say a drink," I say quickly before she can beat around the bush with her answer.

"I don't really know what it is," she replies. "I had one once and they're good-they look sketchy but they taste like strawberries. Don't worry, you'll like it."

"Gin," I say, leaning in even closer, "you know I don't have much experience drinking. Make sure I don't do anything stupid, okay?"

She rubs my arm in a comforting gesture. "I'll keep an eye on you, Herms. I promise."

If this were a movie, I would definitely say that that is the ominous line that occurs just before a zombie swoops out of the rafters and grabs the screaming moron who asked everyone else to make sure nothing happens to them.

By this time, the bartender has returned with three drinks-two of which are silvery looking and one of which looks like someone puked Sunkist into a cup.

Ginny takes one of the silvery looking drinks and passes it to me, placing the other in front of herself. Luna reaches for the Sunkist vomit (naturally) and the three of us settle ourselves comfortably at the bar.

I have to admit, I'm a little nervous. Like I said before, I'm not much of a drinker, meaning I have no experience with it whatsoever, barring the occasional glass of wine or champagne at my parents' doctor-infested dinner parties.

I pick up my glass like it's about to bite me and inspect the drink carefully. Other than the fact that it's an odd color, it looks alright. I take an experimental sip.

It tastes like alcohol-infused strawberries. I purse my lips and look over at Ginny, who is making a bit of a face as well.

"Damn," she says," how much alcohol did the bartender put in that thing? Hello, I'm drunk."

I giggle and find myself relaxing. This is just going to be a fun night dancing and drinking out with the girls. If this night goes well, I may even call for a repeat.

"Luna, what the hell are you drinking?" I ask, leaning a bit past Ginny so I can see my other friend. "It looks like regurgitated Sunkist."

Ginny nearly spits out the drink she's just taken and starts laughing hysterically. Luna looks a bit befuddled (a look Neville pulls off quite well-I've always thought those two were perfect for each other) and answers, "It's a Unicorn's Horn-tangerine juice, peaches, and vodka."

I take back my Sunkist remark. That doesn't sound too bad.

As the three of us begin to have more fun with our evening, I take some time to observe our fellow bar neighbors. Two young-looking wizards are sitting next to Luna, talking and laughing together. A plain-looking man is sitting next to me, and once he notices me looking at him, he gives me a creepy little smile and leers at me.

Okay, I'm done observing.

I'm about halfway done my drink (which I am taking slow sips of-I don't want the alcohol to hit me all at once and my body needs time to get used to it) when I realize that I still haven't found a place to put my wand. It's lying across my lap, along with my purse.

"Hey Ginny," I say in a loud voice, making sure I can be heard over the music, "where can I put my wand?"

She turns to answer me, but the creepy guy next to me beats her to it.

"I know where I'd like to put MY wand," he says, giving me a suggestive glance.

Oh Merlin. Why, why, WHY does it always have to be a guy like that? Why do I always get stuck with gross creepy guys who like to use lines like THAT?

"I'm sorry, I wasn't talking to you. Go back to your drink," I say confidently, turning around and giving him a dirty look.

"You don't have to be a bitch about it," he grumbles. He picks up his beer and walks away, muttering something about "shouldn't have given witches the right to use magic."

I turn back to see Ginny barely containing her laughter, and Luna looking at me appreciatively.

"That was great!" Luna says, as Ginny once again bursts out laughing. "You really told him. Way to go, Hermione! And give me your wand. I'll put it my bag. I put Ginny's in there too."

I gratefully pass her my wand, and finish off my drink, feeling a bit more confident.

We order another round, and while we're waiting, Theodore Nott wanders over to the bar, Draco Malfoy in tow.

I suddenly wish that second drink would appear in front of me, so I would have something to do with my hands rather than sit here and fidget like a Nervous Nelly.

Theodore Nott moves to the bar by Luna (wtf?) and the Sex God takes the seat vacated by Mr. Creepy Wand.

The same bartender serves us our drinks without so much as a second glance and smiles sexily at Draco as she takes his order.

If he hooks up with her, I am officially calling it a night.

"Nice shiner, Granger," McHottie drawls, carelessly drumming his fingers on the bar counter.

Damn it. The stupid thing must be visible in this light.

I really hate it how when you look at your makeup in a certain light, it looks okay, but when you're somewhere else and the lighting is different, all of your flaws stand out like Britney Spears's underwear.

"Thanks," I say calmly, taking another sip of my drink. I have to hand it to Ginny, alcohol is probably the best antidote to my usual overactive brain in this kind of situation. "I had a little accident before we left."

"What kind of 'little accident'?" the Sex God asks, barely sparing the bartender a second glance (yay!) and ignoring her as she walks away, looking more than a little disappointed (she'll probably hate me more now, but who cares?)

I do my best nonchalant shrug and say, "Oh, it was nothing. I just tripped and fell. And whacked my face."

I am the worst liar in the world.

Hot N' Blond looks at me and says (teasingly?), "Did you fall down some stairs, too? You can't lie for shit, Granger."

"Ginny accio'd her makeup bag and it hit me in the face," I admit, taking another (slightly bigger) sip of my drink. I guess I crumbled under questioning.

It's a good thing I'll never commit a crime of any sort. I mean, this is just a stupid little thing where I don't want to admit to anyone how dumb the actual story is. Can you imagine if I were under actual questioning?

"_Miss Granger, you have been brought before the Wizengamot for hitting Ruben Collier over the head with a toilet and stealing his coin purse. I will only ask you one more time. How did you know he would be alone that night if you weren't stalking him?"_

"_I-I told you before, sir," I say nervously. "I just walked in and there he was, all alone."_

_The Inquisitor looks at me curiously and walks over to a corner of the room._

"_ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT! I STALKED HIM FOR WEEKS! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME!" I scream hysterically, breaking out into sobs._

"_Miss Granger, what on earth are you crying about? I was only going to get my teacup," the Inquisitor says, shaking his head._

Stop that.

Draco's still shaking with laughter as I turn to call on Ginny for support.

"Ginny, I-is Theodore Nott hitting on LUNA?"

Ginny nods and grimaces. "You are correct, Hermione Granger. It's as painful as it is entertaining."

We both lean over a bit, not even bothering to pretend that we aren't hanging on to every word.

"-as my father says," Luna's saying, idly twirling her little drink umbrella around in her now-empty cup.

"Your father sounds like he needs to get laid," Theodore Nott, true to his perversely obnoxious form, replies. "Have another drink. I'm paying."

As Luna nods in agreement, Ginny turns to me, her eyes wide.

"Is she really going for HIM? Merlin, she can do better than that," she says, shaking her head.

"Yeah, I know," I agree. "I mean, I know Luna's a space cadet, but I didn't think even she would fall for his nonexistent charm."

"What's wrong with Theo?" cuts in the smooth drawl of the very sexy and now-single blond sitting next to me.

Apparently, Draco Malfoy was eavesdropping as well, and much more skillfully than Ginny and I.

"What's _wrong_ with Theodore Nott? How much time do you have?"

I guess those two drinks are working wonders on Ginny's normally small amount of subtlety and tact.

"He's a total perv, that's for one," I inform Draco, a little more loosely than I usually would.

I guess those one and a half drinks are working wonders on my normally large amount of restraint as well.

"He's not a perv," McSexy disagrees, finishing off his drink like…well, like someone who isn't a complete stranger to drinking and knows his limits. "He lacks a certain panache, I'll admit, but he's alright."

Ginny opens her mouth and begins to disagree, but I choose to swallow my words, along with the rest of my drink, which turns out to be a bit more of a mouthful than I'd originally anticipated. I can now feel a large amount of alcohol burning its way down to my stomach, but I also feel a bit more…relaxed, open.

It's now or never.

"Malfoy, would you like to dance?" I ask, conveniently breaking up the argument between Ginny and the Sex God, which would undoubtedly have turned very ugly, considering the fact that Ginny is now fueled by alcohol.

Draco Malfoy looks more surprised than his father would ever have deemed appropriate for any sort of situation, never mind public ones, and, for a moment, I fear (as best as I can with two very strong drinks in me) that he'll turn me down.

He shrugs. "Sure, what the hell. It's not often the Head Girl comes out to a bar and asks the hottest guy in the room to dance with her," he says, tossing back the rest of his drink.

He slides off the stool with the grace of a cat, and Ginny, wear a slightly drunken shit-eating grin, excitedly gives me a thumbs-up before she turns back to her own drink.

We push our way onto the dance floor and finish the rest of the song that's currently playing a bit awkwardly, not really getting near each other (in his case, this is probably because he doesn't want to touch me, and in my case, it's because I have now realized that I am a little drunk and I don't want to trip over him and go flying.)

The song ends and the two of us mill about for a few minutes while the DJ spouts some crap about "ladies' night" and "come on you young wizards grab a lady and get out on the dance floor, cause…THIS FIRE IS OUT OF CONTROL!"

The song comes on, and, aided by alcohol, I begin to move a lot more fluidly than the last time I was dancing, when Draco unfortunately caught me in the kitchen.

_Eyes, burning a way through me_

_Overwhelm, destroying so sweetly_

I start out carefully, moving my body only a little bit, trying desperately to remember the dance moves I saw in all those movies about clubbing. _  
_

_Now there is a fire in me  
A fire that burns_

Draco, possibly seeing that I reserve my poke dancing for kitchen appearances only, moves a bit closer and begins dancing near me, but not quite _with_ me. __

This fire is out of control  
I'm going to burn this city  
Burn this city

I will dance normally. I will resist the urge to move around like an out of control mop. Come on, Hermione. Coordinate those moves. _  
_

_This fire is out of control_

Draco moves a bit closer. _  
_

_I'm going to burn this city  
Burn this city  
This fire is out of control  
I'm going to burn this city_

I am desperately trying to remember that thing I saw that girl do in that dance movie when…_  
_

_Burn this city_

His hands are on my waist. _  
_

_This fire is out of control  
I'm going to burn it, I'll burn it_

His moves are a lot better than mine._  
_

_I, I, I'll burn it down_

Merlin, he's so hot. I can't believe I'm dancing with him. Okay, Hermione, control the Miley Cyrus enthusiasm. __

Eyes, boring a way through me

_Paralyse, controlling completely_

He moves a bit closer to me. _  
Now, there is a fire within me_

He must have noticed me looking at him, because he smirks sexily and leans forward to whisper in my ear. "Like what you see, Granger?"

Um, YEAH._  
_

_A fire that burns_

This fire is out of control  
I'm going to burn this city

I smirk back and pull him in a bit closer. Hello, liquid courage. Where have you been hiding?_  
_

_Burn this city  
This fire is out of control  
I'm going to burn this city_

I can now feel his hard, toned body dancing near mine. I am seriously going to have a mind-blowing orgasm right here if this song doesn't end soon. _  
_

_Burn this city  
This fire is out of control  
Then I, I'm out of control_

He smells so good. _  
_

_And I burn,_

Oh, how I burn for you  
Burn, oh how I burn for you

I am officially the envy of every girl dancing near me. I look to see if the Sex God is bored and looking at other girls while he waits for the song to end, but he's only looking at me._  
_

_Burn, how I  
Burn, how I  
Burn, oh how I..._

"You look good dressed like this, Granger," he says in my ear, and I feel his warm breath moving my hair slightly. "You should dress like this more often.__

This fire is out of control,  
I'm gonna burn this city,  
Burn this city...

DAMN IT. Why did the song have to end now? Should I wait around to see if he'll want to dance with me again? Or should I save myself from embarrassment and just go back to my friends?

My brain must be slightly addled from the drinks. I would never just ask myself two questions if I were sober. I would usually go to the point of giving myself an aneurysm.

Ugh. They should really make a book telling girls what to do in these kinds of situations. It'd be called "How To Get The Guy You Can't Get And What To Do In All The Resulting Confusing Situations." Hey, I'd buy it. Hell, if this works out, I'll even write it.

Yep. I am definitely drunk.

"You're looking a bit peaky, Granger," the Sex God says. "Come on, it's back to the bar with you. Time to sit down."

Aw, he's so nice. I decide to impart this observation to him on the way back to the bar and he just kind of looks at me and sits me down next to Ginny, who is also definitely drunk because she greets me with a hug.

"Hiiiii," I say, the word stretching itself out a bit more than I originally intended. "Hey! Bartender lady! Another Dementor's Kiss for the Head Girl, please."

If looks could kill, the one the bartender is shooting me right now would send me through the floor and put me on the express elevator to Hell.

Both Ginny and the Sex God burst out laughing. "Drink much, Granger?" Draco asks, tears in his eyes. "You're becoming decidedly more aggressive."

"I didn't drink that much," I protest, shaking my head with the floppiness of a rag doll. "Wow, my head is shaking all over the place!"

"Girls," Draco mutters, shaking his head with more semblance of control. Ginny and I giggle until our stomachs hurt.

Once I take a few rather large sips of my third drink of the night, I decide that it's a good idea to ask Draco the question I've been dying to ask him the entire time we've been here.

"Draco," I say, tapping his arm. He's looking down the bar, concentrating on something. Look at me, dammit. "DRACO!" I shout, whacking him on the arm. "HELLO, I'M TALKING TO YOU. Why are you shitting over here with ush? Don't you…like…hate ush?"

" 'Don't you, like, hate ush?'" he mimics. "You are drunk. You're slurring your normally very articulated words, and I see you've reverted back to hitting me to make your point."

I can't help it. I laugh. He's so funny.

"You didn't answer my question!" I pout, whacking him on the arm again before I can stop myself.

He takes a deliberate sip of his drink before placing it on the bar and turning to face me and Ginny, who are staring at him, waiting for his answer.

"I am sitting-or shitting, as you put it-over here because the two of you are the most entertaining drunks I have ever met, and if you do anything stupid, I want to see it firsthand. That's why."

I open my mouth to respond, but Ginny chooses this moment to lean over and bump into me, and I completely lose any remaining balance I had and I fall off the bar stool.

"Ohmigosh! Hermione! Are you okay?" Ginny asks, in between hesitant giggles.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I say, getting up in between laughs. "Why is everything so funny tonight?" I ask as both Ginny and Draco help me off the floor. Ginny is sent off into gales of laughter again, and Draco kind of looks at me like I'm a moron before replying, "It's because you're drunk, Granger. Ladies, how about we go upstairs and seat ourselves at a table to prevent any more of these kinds of accidents?"

"Okay!" I say enthusiastically. "As long as I can bring my drink!"

"Yes, definitely bring that," the Sex God says, before offering one arm to each of us. "Come on, let's go. Don't trip. And don't spill anything on me. That means you, Granger."

We set off towards the stairs.

I am a very uncoordinated drunk. It's a good thing I'm wearing sneakers and not heels. It's also a good thing everyone somehow sees us coming and manages to move themselves out of the way. If they didn't, some unlucky soul would end up sucking a Dementor's Kiss out of their clothing for the rest of the night.

Sucking a Dementor's Kiss out of their clothing.

Ha, ha.

"Why are you grinning like a psycho, Granger? Come on-we're going up the stairs now. Left. Right. Hold onto the banister, Weasley. The two of you are going to kill me."

He somehow manages to lead us up the stairs with only a minimal amount of tripping (me-I tripped over my shoelace, okay?) and stumbling (Ginny-who has no shoelaces to trip over and drank a lot more than I did).

I only dare to glance up at the Sex God's (gorgeous) face once, and he's looking rather irritated.

Time to walk like a normal person, Hermione. Before you scare him away.

"Okay," Draco says in what he obviously considers to be a bracing voice. "Now we're going to that table in the corner. No, not that table, Weasley," he snaps as Ginny lurches towards an already occupied table. "In the corner. Over there. Come on, walk straight. It's-it's right there. Walk, dammit. Straight as an arrow."

"What about Captain Jack Sparrow?" Ginny glances up with a look of childish excitement on her face. But then again, who doesn't feel excitement at the mere mention of Johnny Depp?

"Captain Jack Sparrow? Who the hell is that? I didn't say anything about him. Merlin. Granger, if you wouldn't mind donating part of your slightly large brain to Weasley's cause, that might help you two get through the rest of the night."

"Okay, Mr. Snotty Wand," I snap back, and Ginny and I lapse into uncontrollable giggles once again. Alcohol really does have the power to eliminate the filter that usually stands between my brain and my mouth.

The look on the Sex God's face darkens, and for a moment, I'm almost afraid I've destroyed all the progress my Dementor's Kiss and I have made this evening.

But, he doesn't throw us on the floor, hex us, and march away. Instead, he manages to get us over to the cell that houses our table.

"Okay. Here we are," he says in a tone that belies his relief. "Weasley, you go first. Through the doorway, go on." Ginny appears to be deep in thought for a moment, but then she snaps out of it and takes a seat.

"Granger, now you."

I focus on the chair I'm planning to sit in and begin to move forward. The chair is getting closer…closer…CLANG!

Fuck. I forgot about the metal bars surrounding the table.

"Ow," I mutter, stumbling backwards.

Now it's Draco and Ginny's turns to collapse into laughter.

"Omigosh!" Ginny says again, trying hard to control herself. "Aw, poor Hermione. Walk AROUND the bars, stupid."

I try to laugh at myself, but between my embarrassment (which is surprisingly minimal) and the throbbing pain above my eyebrow, I'm finding it rather hard.

A strong hand takes my arm and guides me to my seat, which I collapse into gratefully.

"Okay, we made it," the Sex God says, and begins looking around for a server to refill his drink.

From the table, we have a clear view of the lower level of Club Azkaban. As I sip my drink and wait for the ache in my face to subside (I will be hearing about this tomorrow), I take the opportunity to look around, safely enclosed in an area with my best friend and the hottest guy in the world. I watch the people dancing for a few minutes, but quickly get bored and look towards the bar, where I can see people drinking and…

"OH MY GOD. GINNY! LUNA IS MAKING OUT WITH THEODORE NOTT!"

Ginny and even the normally unimpressed Draco jump up out of their seats and rush towards the balcony to look where I'm pointing.

Luna and Theodore are going at it furiously in a darker corner of the club, underneath one of the green lights. Theodore's grabbing at her ass as she pushes herself further and further into him.

"Should we do a rescue mission?" Ginny asks me.

"Nah, leave them. They look like they're enjoying it," Draco answers for me. "You two stay here. I'm going to get Blaise and Nigel."

"Who's Nigel?" Ginny mouths as the Sex God walks away.

"Must be that other guy we met outside while we were waiting in line with them," I shrug. "Okay, now that he's gone-we totally danced together."

Ginny's face lights up once again and she moves her chair in an excited hop closer to mine. "REALLY? Did he kiss you or anything?"

I wish.

"No, but he did say I look good and I should dress like this more often," I reply. I feel a wide skin-splitting smile stretch across my face.

"Awww, really? See, I told you everything would work out," Ginny says, grinning.

"Well, it's been going well so far," I concede, taking another sip of my drink. "I mean, he hasn't made out with any other girls tonight that I know of, and if he didn't like me he probably would've gone off to find someone else by now, right?"

Wait a minute.

What if Draco's find-Blaise excuse was just that-an excuse to leave Ginny and me someplace where we won't be able to get into trouble so he could go off and find some hot girl to hook up with?

I scan the stairs and the upper level quickly.

I don't see him.

"What's wrong, Herms?" Ginny asks, leaning drunkenly on the table.

"Nothing," I reply, frantically looking around the club.

He's not at the bar.

I don't see him on the dance floor, but then again, there are so many weird looking lights and people over there that I would never be able to find him unless I went down there and actually searched.

I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is happening. Don't cry, Hermione. Whatever you do, don't-

"Hey, we're back," says a smooth and sexy drawl from somewhere above me.

I nearly burst into tears in relief.

"Hey ladies," Blaise Zabini says, taking a seat next to Ginny, who waves at him slowly and tosses the rest of her drink down her throat.

"Hey, wheresh the waiter pershon? I need another one of theshe," she says, waving her cup around in the air.

"Ginny, you really have to stop after thish one," I inform her a bit more loudly than I intended to. I don't know what it is, I just can't seem to control the volume of my voice. "You are getting…" I pause. The words aren't really coming to mind.

"Way too drunk?" Blaise finishes for me, a look of amusement in his dark eyes. "You guys will be alright. In fact, you're running low too, Granger. How about another?"

Ginny nods heavily, her neck like limp spaghetti. The logical part of my brain is screaming at me to stop, but the drunk part of my brain is much quicker and more verbal because I hear myself saying, completely without permission, "Sure, jusht one more."

Blaise nods and waves to the server, somehow communicating that we need two more Dementor's Kiss drinks without ever leaving his seat or speaking.

"Amazing," I say, leaning towards him and swaying like a skyscraper. "How did you do that?"

"And this is Hermione Granger, the smartest witch in school," the Sex God says from somewhere to my left in a sarcastic tone of voice. "Granger, this is my friend Nigel Mumford. He's been graduated for a few years now."

"Hi, I don't care," I say. Seriously, who even cares about some loser named Nigel Mumford? What parent in their right mind would name their child that? It sounds like some sort of plant. Besides, I have a lot more important things to worry about, like the fact that I'm sitting at a table with two really hot guys and where's my drink?

"Granger, don't be rude," Draco says, elbowing me. I swivel around and peer at him out of the top of my head. I can't seem to sit up straight.

"I'm shorry," I say apologetically to The Plant. "I've had a bit to drink this evening."

The Plant shrugs. "S'alright. Happens to the best of us."

Christ, even he's good looking. What is it about hot guys having hot friends? Is it some sort of unspoken rule? Is there an application you have to fill out? I mean, even though I'm not attracted to Theodore Nott because of his awful personality, he's still good looking. Must investigate this further when sober.

Our drinks come ("Finally!" Ginny crows) and the five of us sit in awkward silence for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from Ginny, who's gulping down her drink like it's going out of style.

"Don't give me that look, Hermione," she says when she finally comes up for air and sees my disapproving stare (the Wonder Twits like to call it "The McGonagall" ). "I've been having drinking competitions with my brothers since the age of 13. I can hold my liquor."

"Drinking competitions?" Blaise asks curiously, setting his beer on the table. "What do those entail?"

"Waiting until Mum leaves the house, breaking into her liquor cabinet, and drinking as much as you can take as fast as possible before she comes back," Ginny replies candidly. The boys laugh appreciatively at this story and I rack my brain for something to top it.

I come up with nothing. I have no interesting drinking stories to tell. I remain out of the loop, as usual.

"Have an extra cigarette, Nigel?" the Sex God asks The Plant, who nods and hands him one. Blaise looks at both of them and, with an exaggerated sigh, The Plant hands him one as well.

"You smoke?" I blurt incredulously.

Draco shakes his head. "Very rarely, and only if I'm having a drink," he says.

I've never cared much for cigarettes. My grandfather used to smoke all the time and although I loved the smell of smoke mixed with the smell of him, I've never developed an affinity for the habit. Besides, I've heard that kissing a smoker is like sticking your tongue in an ashtray. Not to mention my parents would have a fit-smoking is very bad for your teeth.

"Care for a smoke?" The Plant asks Ginny and I, holding out his metal cigarette container. I shake my head, and look at Ginny, who copies the motion.

"You DON'T smoke, Granger?" the Sex God asks teasingly.

"Nah. It's never been my thing," I reply. "I don't care if you guys do though. My grandfather used to smoke. I'm accustomed to it."

The tension and awkwardness seem to fade away a little at this comment, and I spend the next few hours having more fun (and drinks) then I've ever had in my life.

"And then he says, 'Just be careful that the toilet doesn't bite you on the ass!'" Blaise finishes, and the five of us roar with laughter.

The table is littered with empty cups, straws, and cigarette butts (The Plant seems to have a chainsmoking problem.) Ginny and I wipe tears out of our eyes. Everything has gotten funnier and funnier in direct proportion to my drinking.

I look down at the lower level-Theodore Nott and Luna are nowhere to be seen. The club is beginning to thin out, and I can see the bartenders starting to clean things up in anticipation of the night ending.

"We'd better get going," I announce, more to Ginny than to anyone else.

"Already? What time is it?" Blaise asks.

"Um….2:30am," The Plant responds.

I'll have to be careful that I don't call him that to his face by accident.

The two of us stand up and immediately fall back down.

My legs have turned into noodles sometime when I wasn't paying attention.

"I can't move," Ginny says in a defeated voice.

"Me neither," I sigh. I look up at the three guys, who are staring at us. "Go on without me. Save yourselves!"

"Well since you guys are all going back to the same place, why don't you two help them out? I have to go meet Elise anyway," The Plant suggests to Blaise and Draco.

Draco looks as though someone has just told him they are going to take his broom and snap it in half.

"Yeah, we can do that," Blaise says, looking down at Ginny.

Oh great. My best friend has gone and attracted the attentions of one of the hottest guys in school while I've been spending the past few months working my ass off to get the elusive attentions of Draco Malfoy.

With a "Nice meeting you," The Plant walks briskly (after so many drinks? HOW?) out of the cell and down the stairs towards the exit.

"Come on," Draco grumbles, helping me up. Across the table, Blaise does the same for Ginny, and we somehow manage to make it all the way to the stairs without a mishap.

The stairs.

Cue evil and ominous music here.

It wasn't so hard going up the stairs. I didn't have nearly as much alcohol in me, there's a bathroom on the second level, and there was really no reason to turn around and see just how daunting the stairs actually are.

"We can do this," the Sex God says. "I've got you, Granger. Hold the banister. Okay….step."

I don't think I've ever taken a set of stairs slower in my life. Or held on to a banister more tightly. Actually, clung. Clung is more like it.

With the Sex God's sexy guidance, I make it all the way down without tumbling and smashing my face open.

"Aaaand, that's it. You can let go of your death grip on the banister now, Granger."

I walk out of the club, leaning on Draco's arm heavily.

I am so fucking wasted.

"Where'sh the Portkey? How do we get back?" Ginny asks, looking around blearily. I look over (a really difficult move) to see her holding onto Blaise in the exact same fashion, but he looks a lot more cheerful about having a pretty girl hanging on his arm.

I'm sure he's used to it.

"This way," Blaise says, and we round the corner slowly. "It's this sign by the hat shop. You have to tap the H with your wand. You know, like, H for Hogwarts."

"I guessh it's a good thing you guysh are with us," I say to no one in particular. "Luna hash our wandsh."

"Why does she have your wands?" the Sex God asks as we wander down the street.

"Didn't fit in my purse," I mumble. "Hard to talk."

"Yeah, I'm surprised you're still moving. You say you've never gotten drunk before, Granger?" I nod, hoping that this is going somewhere in the direction of him talking and not me. "Well, my hat's off to you. You drank 6 of those death drinks. I tasted one of those once. Strong enough to take out a dragon."

We finally make it down to the hat shop.

I'm breathing like a winded elephant.

Walking is hard. Who knew?

"Okay," Blaise says, fishing for his wand in his pocket with one hand and balancing Ginny with the other. "Ready? Ginny and I will go first. Then Drake, you and Hermione go. Wait a few seconds so we can get out of the way-otherwise you'll land on top of us."

Draco nods for both of us, and Blaise taps the H with his wand. With a soft pop, he and Ginny disappear.

"Can we wait a few minutes?" I ask pleadingly, suddenly reminded of the sickening sensation caused by traveling using a Portkey. Merlin, I can't wait to learn to Apparate.

Draco nods and lets me go. I slump down in the doorway and try not to be sick.

"You ok?" he asks.

I nod.

I shouldn't do this. Don't do it, Hermione. This is such a bad idea. You will regret this tomorrow.

Now or never.

"Hey, Malfoy? I think you're really cute," I inform him, and he looks at me with an odd look on his face.

Then everything goes black.

**HA.**

**AND WHAT.**

**I hope you liked it. I am so nervous.**

**Read and review. Do it.**

**-Carrie**


	21. Logic And Reason

-1**Thank you to everyone for the lovely reviews. I can officially uncross my fingers. I believe they are now bent in a permanent crossed-fingers position. **

**I mostly write this story in my pajamas, in case anyone was wondering.**

**DISCLAIMER: I OWN HARRY POTTER. WHAT NOW, J.K. ROWLING? WHAT NOW, HUH? Oh, shit. No-put the gun down. I was kidding. I-what? OKAY! OKAY! I'LL SAY IT! I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER! NOW WILL YOU PUT THE GUN DOWN?!**

**Ahem. Excuse me.**

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I wake up feeling like I've been hit by a tractor trailer.

The sunlight streaming through the windows is killing my eyes, so I turn over and push my face further into the couch.

Wait. The couch? What exactly happened last night?

I move to sit up, but the motion makes my head spin. I lay back down before I throw up everywhere.

I am never drinking again. Ever.

I finally manage to open my eyes a crack and see that someone has placed a glass of water on the table in front of me. I suddenly realize how thirsty I am and reach for it, making a mental note to find out who did it and to thank them later.

The water settles my stomach a bit, and after a few minutes, I feel steady enough to sit up and try to sort through some things.

Well, I'm in the Heads' common room. At least I made it back and didn't end up in some creep's slaughterhouse. That answers my first question. Now if only I had answers to the millions of other questions that are hurting my brain.

I look down and see with relief that I have all of my clothes on. Nothing hurts, so I clearly did not have sex with anyone last night. Good. Check second question off list.

I get up slowly and walk towards the kitchen to see what time it is. The clock on the microwave tells me it's 11:30am. Third question answered.

I hear footsteps and turn around. Look who's coming down the stairs dressed in pajama pants and a well-worn t-shirt.

I'll give you three guesses.

The Sex God stretches and yawns. He obviously hasn't noticed me standing here in the kitchen doorway like a deer in headlights.

"Um, Malfoy?" I begin, but it comes out more as a cracked whisper. I quickly gulp more water and try again. "Malfoy?"

"Wha-oh, hey Granger. You survived." He pads towards me and the kitchen, turning sideways slightly as he moves towards the fridge so as not to bump into me.

"That's debatable," I inform him dryly. "I feel as though someone spent all night jack hammering my skull."

"Drink water and go down to Madam Pomfrey later," he says, pouring himself a glass of orange juice. "She'll have something to make the hangover symptoms go away. It works pretty well-I've taken it a few times and it's worth it if you're willing to brave her clucks of disapproval and the look that says she wants to tell the Headmaster what you've been up to."

"Um, thanks." I lean against the doorway. I'm going to need its support for my next question. "So…what exactly happened last night? I think I kind of blacked out. Did I throw up at all?"

He chuckles a little and leans against the counter to face me. "You puked a bit after the Portkey. Wasn't much, though. You kind of just threw yourself onto the ground and did your business there. Blaise and Weasley were really far ahead of us, and I made you get up and walk on your own legs back to the castle. You fell down a few times on the stairs once we were inside, and you got stuck in one of the steps. You were really confused and couldn't figure out why your leg wouldn't move. I had to pull you out but after that you were alright. I got you back here and you tripped over the doorway and fell on the floor. You then proceeded to refuse to stand up and crawled all the way to the couch, where you fell asleep immediately. I put a glass of water beside you and then I went to bed. And that's about it."

Oh.

Holy.

Jesus.

I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.

I am never leaving my room again.

I am definitely never drinking again.

I can't fucking believe he saw me do all of that.

But instead of screaming in humiliation and running out of the room at full speed like I want to, I say, " 'That's about it?' Is there more?"

"Um, well, yeah, but you were really drunk, so I won't hold it against you."

The butterflies in my stomach threaten to burst it open. I am getting more and more nervous. Come on, McSexy, spit it out. Don't leave me in suspense. Just hit me with whatever brick of information you have and get it over with so I can get on with my life in 2 or 3 years.

"You told me you think I'm really cute," he says, and quickly sticks his face in the orange juice glass.

I am officially going to have to move to another city so the shame of this does not follow me around for the rest of my life.

"I said that?" I ask incredulously, and he nods.

I realize that this is my moment to quickly backtrack and pass off what I said as a drunken flight of fancy.

But I'm not sure I want to. I mean, if I take it back now, I may never have the opportunity to say it again, and Draco Malfoy will, once and for all, write me off as a bushy-haired, homework-obsessed lying drunk. If I don't take it back, it may give him something to think about and (with a little luck) could play a part in what happens next. On the other hand, if I don't take it back, I might just look like a crushing little schoolgirl, and Draco Malfoy will, once and for all, write me off as a bushy-haired, homework-obsessed stalker.

Maybe there's some way I can find middle ground and go both ways.

"Well, I mostly just said it because…you know…well, I dunno why I said it."

Wow, Hermione. Way to start strong and finish lame.

"Granger," He-Who-Looks-Hot-In-Pajamas (well he would look hot in anything, even a paper bag, really) starts, setting down his glass. "I just broke up with someone I've been dating for a long time. Not only do the two of us have a long history of rivalry and insults, but I also don't pin you as the type to be satisfied with a rebound. Besides, what about older Weasel? Didn't you two have something going at one point?"

Oh lord. Even Draco Malfoy knows about that? Well I guess it's pretty obvious-Ron's not known for his subtlety. And Parvati and Lavender aren't known for their let's-not-shit-talk-other-people morals.

I wonder how he found out?

"We don't have anything going on," I say quickly before this gets even more out of hand. "Ron liked me for a while but it's all platonic on my end."

Platonic that will soon turn into Ronald Weasley splattered all over the Gryffindor common room for not being able to keep his mouth shut.

"Well, I think us getting along and having fun together is a start," Draco says, and I can practically hear the sound of my heart being crushed. "But we have very different things going on. You're looking for someone to be in a relationship with-I have no idea why you would pick me above all people-and I've just gotten out of a long-term relationship and I'm not really sure what my direction is. I don't have a problem with the two of us hanging out on occasion-although next time, keep your drinking to a minimum so I don't have to babysit you, please. And I don't have a problem with the two of us being civil to each other."

I am being rejected by logic. Everything he just said is so logical that it's infuriating. He has excellent reasons for not liking me and not being with me.

I look up at him, and smile a bit, forcing back the tears threatening to rain down my face. "So-Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy being civil to each other? We're going to have to ice skate home. Hell just froze over."

He laughs a bit and says, "And on that note, I would advise you to get out of here. Pansy's coming over soon and the amount of screaming and fighting that will ensue will make you wish you were in hell."

His advice could not be more welcome. I look down, ignoring the snot that's beginning to trickle down from my nose in order to avoid sniffling and giving away just how upset I am.

I walk as quickly as I can towards my bedroom. The moment the door closes, the tears come running down my face. I don't think I've cried this hard in a very long time. I reach for my wand to put a silencing charm on the door and to hide the (loud) evidence of my broken heart from McHottie, but my wand isn't there.

Shit. Luna has my wand. Damn it. Of all the times to not have your wand, this is not an ideal one.

I settle for the second-best option: locking the door, putting a towel by the bottom, and burying my face in a pillow.

About an hour later, face still wet from tears, I am jolted from my pity party by the sounds of yelling coming from the common room.

I guess Bitchy-McBitch is here.

I get up and remove the towel from the bottom of my door in an effort to hear what they're saying.

"-can't believe you, Draco! First, you break up with me because I told a few of my friends what was going on and then they went and couldn't keep their fat mouths shut, and then you go out to Club Azkaban and spend the entire night with Hermione Granger, of all people! Where is she? Is she here? I'm gonna shove my boot so far up her ass she'll taste leather!"

"Get a hold of yourself, Pansy!" Draco shouts back. "No, she's not here! And she has absolutely nothing to do with this! Just because we share living quarters and have decided to be a bit more civil to each other in order to avoid making each others' lives miserable for a year doesn't mean we're fucking!"

Does he really think I'm not here? He can't think that-he saw me go up to my room and as far as I know he's been down in the common room for the past hour, waiting for Pansy. Why did he say I wasn't there?

I'll have to ask Ginny about this later.

This would probably be an inopportune moment to go downstairs and try to get out the door so I can retrieve my wand and find Ginny the Guru.

"-know I like to keep things private! I never tell anyone private details about our relationship because it's just that-OUR relationship! And I really don't think that one little spat makes it okay for you to go and tell everyone you know that we're having a big fight! You completely jumped the broom on that one, and you went and made everything into a huge mess!"

Man, Draco Malfoy is killing everyone with logic today.

"You really don't get it, do you Draco?" Pansy asks scathingly, and I can almost see her shaking her perfectly-styled head.

"No Pansy, I think YOU'RE the one who doesn't get it," Draco shoots back. "And you know what? There is no way in hell I'm going to reconcile with someone who can't be mature enough to see my point and to talk about the issue at hand without bringing in other issues just to make it so she's winning. I can see now that I was very right to make the decision to break up with you. You're obviously too immature to handle any kind of relationship with anyone. I'm surprised your friends put up with you for so long. You can just go back to them and tell them that."

Pansy proves she's mature by shouting, "I HATE YOU!," before stomping across the room (yes, I can hear her stomping like a 2 year old whose ice cream just got taken away) and slamming the door with such force I'm surprised it doesn't give out and collapse.

I hear the Sex God throw himself down on the couch with a sigh, and I quickly change my clothes into a comfortable pair of worn straightlegs and fitted red t-shirt before jamming my Converse back on my feet and opening the door.

"Is it safe to come out now?" I call, and the Sexiest Man Alive turns his head and looks up at me.

"Yeah, it's safe to come out now," he says.

There are so many questions I want to ask him. Why did he lie to protect me from Pansy? Why did he say I looked good last night? Why did he turn me down so rationally a mere hour ago?

However, this is probably not the best time to ask him any of those questions. For now, I'll keep them to myself.

For now, I'll ask Ginny.

Ginny's curled up in an armchair by the window, reading, when I first enter the Gryffindor common room. To my relief, there are only a few students scattered about the room, none of whom have the names of Harry Potter or Ronald Weasley. Or Neville Longbottom, or Colin Creevey, for that matter. Or Parvati Patil, or-

Whatever.

Anyway, suffice to say nobody I don't want to see is in the common room.

I walk over to Ginny, who doesn't even notice me until I snatch the book out of her hand and say, "Is there somewhere we can talk?"

"Merlin, Hermione. You just snatched a book out of someone's hand. You're actually discouraging reading now, you know. Next thing you know Michael Jackson will announce to the world that he really is an alien and he's sorry for taking up so much of everyone's time with his strange antics."

Oh, I get it. Now that I introduced Ginny to the weird world of Muggle celebrities, she's going to use one of them in an analogy or a metaphor or whatever you call it every time she wants to make fun of me.

I give her a look that tells her I mean business and she grumbles, "Alright. My room. There's no one up there."

"Where is everyone today?" I ask as I follow her up the stairs.

"They're outside," she says. "They're all enjoying the last few days of fall before winter sweeps down on us like the apocalyptic hell that it is."

"I talked to the Sex God this morning," I say as soon as the door shuts behind me.

She looks at me excitedly. "And?"

"And he basically said he doesn't think I'm interested in being a rebound and he just wants to be friends," I finish, feeling tears about to overwhelm me once again.

"Oh, rejection by logic," Ginny says, hugging me tightly. "But what about what he said last night? About you looking good and all that? And what brought on this conversation?"

I pull back, wiping the tears off my face. "Apparently when I was drunk last night right before we took the Portkey after you and Blaise I told him I thought he was cute. And I don't know. I guess he was saying that stuff in a non-interested way. Boys are complicated."

"Boys are NOT that complicated," Ginny disagrees, leading me over to sit down on her bed and handing me a tissue. "They're kind of like plants."

I suddenly remember meeting The Plant last night and I have to giggle a bit at this.

"If he told you he thought you looked good, he's obviously attracted to you. People like Draco Malfoy don't just throw around compliments. And he didn't try to get in your pants, so he obviously wasn't saying it to get something from you. You know what I think? I think he thought about what he said later on, when he didn't have a few drinks in him, and he thought about it rationally and decided that he would ignore it and be reasonable about things."

"But I don't want him to be reasonable about things," I sniffle.

I mean, really. I could've handled it a lot better if he just told me he hated my guts or he thought I was ugly or something like that. It's a lot easier to hate a guy who acts like an asshole rather than one who kills your dreams with logic. Telling me I'm gross would've been the nice thing to do.

"No, of course you don't," Ginny says soothingly. "But this could be a good thing. One on hand, you just escaped the Rebound Girl Syndrome, which you were worried about anyway. Secondly, you already got under his skin once. Next time you do it, it'll be a lot easier."

"But I don't know what else to do," I argue. "He already shot me down with reason and he probably thinks that's the end of it. He doesn't want me to get under his skin again."

"Okay, Hermione? I'm going to ask you a question now-how much do you like him? Do you like him only because he's good looking, or are there actual personality traits that you like about him? And I want to hear them. Out loud."

I would imagine that this is the Point Of No Return Question.

I take a few moments before answering slowly.

"Well…you're right, I like him because he's good looking. I like that he was gentleman enough to babysit a drunk girl he's never had a great relationship with. I like that he's smart. I like that he's a rational person with actual reasons for doing things. I like that he can be committed to one person. I guess I'll have to think about this more. I don't really know enough about him. I mean, I have a big crush on him, yeah, but I'm totally getting your point. I should decide how much this is worth to me before I proceed."

Ginny nods. "There you go," she says. "Spend the next week actually trying to get to know him better. Then, next Saturday, if you're still confident that you really like him, we'll decide what to do next."

Ha, Draco Malfoy. I'm going to fight logic with more logic. Take THAT.

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**I know this is an incredibly quick update and that this chapter is a little depressing. I really wanted to write that scene where he turns her down with good reasons because it's happened to me before and it was awful. This chapter is a bit of filler but I felt it was necessary to continue on with the story.**

**Read and review.**

**-Carrie**


	22. Operation Get To Know The Sex God

-1**CLARIFICATION: Nigel Mumford was just a random friend of Draco's. If I do bring him back into the story, it will only because so I may refer to him as The Plant.**

**DISCLAIMER: Do you think if I write "I own Harry Potter" on a piece of paper anyone will believe me? Yeah, me neither. Maybe I should write it on a Pop Tart instead. That'll show J.K. Rowling I mean business.**

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I have never been so bored in my life.

Professor Binns, the ancient History of Magic teacher, has a certain knack for putting people to sleep.

If I ever develop insomnia, I am going to come straight to his office and request that he talk to me about the Goblin Wars.

I mean, the Goblin Wars were dark and difficult times filled with strife and death. It's very difficult to make a war boring, but Professor Binns manages it admirably.

I'm close to rummaging through my bag to find paper clips to keep my eyelids open when a note lands on my desk in front of me.

I look around curiously to see who sent it, but everyone in the room appears to be half asleep and nowhere near up to the task of writing me a note.

It had better not be Ron and The-Boy-Who-Copies-Off-His-Friends asking me to lend them my notes after class.

I unfold it and am intrigued by the fact that I don't recognize the handwriting. In slanted script, it reads:

_Professor Dumbledore would like to see us after class. The man has some unfortunate project in mind for us._

_-D. Malfoy_

Just my luck. A project from that old pothead designed to put more work into my life.

Then again, maybe not.

I've been struggling all morning trying to figure out a way to slyly get to know the Sex God better, and this is the perfect opportunity.

Dumbledore either has incredible timing or he's a mind reader, as I've often suspected he is.

After a quick check to make sure Binns isn't hovering over me (literally, and he's not), I scrawl a quick "Okay" onto the note below Draco's writing and give the note a quick tap with my wand to send it back over to him.

Yes, I did get my wand back.

After Ginny re-boosted my confidence and we cleaned my face up, the two of us decided it would be better if we went together to the Ravenclaw dormitories to get our wands back. Strength in numbers.

What we found when we got there was not at all what we had expected.

"_Luna? Oh, she's not here," a reedy-looking third year informed us. "I don't think she's been here all morning."_

"_Do you know if she went to the library or something?" I asked hopefully._

_Please, please don't let this be what I think it is._

"_I don't think so," the boy said, shaking his head and confirming my worst fears. "I asked one of the girls in her dorm to check and see if she was there because I needed help with my homework and the girl said her bed hadn't been slept in."_

"_Oh, okay. Thank you," Ginny said, and the two of us moved to allow some other students back into their common room. _

"_Her bed hadn't been slept in…you know what this means, don't you?" I asked Ginny._

"_I know what it means but my mind is denying it with all the willpower I possess," she said, cringing. _

"_Come on. If we want our wands back, we're going to have to make a trip to the Slytherin dormitories," I said numbly. _

_Could my day get any worse? It's not bad enough I got shot down like a water balloon at a carnival by the Sex God, but now I actually have to go to the Slytherin dormitories and see the evidence of Luna Lovegood and Theodore Nott having sex with my own eyes?_

_Once I get my wand back, I am seriously going to blind myself._

_As we walked to the Slytherin dorms as slowly as possibly, I asked Ginny what happened with Blaise last night._

"_Nothing," she replied. "He leaned in to kiss me once we made it up to Gryffindor Tower but I just kind of leaned backward and blamed it on being drunk. I don't know if I want to hook up with him-I mean, he is really hot and all, but then there's that whole liking-Harry and Harry-kind-of-liking-me-back thing so I don't want to make things any more complicated and weird than they already are."_

"_But you and Harry aren't going out," I clarified. I never can keep up with what's going on with people. I don't know how Lavender and Parvati do it without their heads blowing off._

"_No," Ginny said. "And I don't know if we're going to. Next to someone like Blaise, Harry seems really…well, he's a BOY, you know, whereas Blaise seems pretty mature. But on the other hand, I've liked Harry for so long, and I actually know him."_

"_Maybe that's just it," I offered, glad to be on the other end of the advice train for a change. "You've liked Harry for so long that liking him has become just a part of your thought process, and not an actual crush."_

"_Maybe," Ginny agreed. "Everyone made such a big deal out of me liking Harry-even my mum when she caught on to it, which was unfortunate-that I just kind of went along and continued liking him. Maybe me liking him isn't even an extension of my real feelings for him, just a continuation of an old crush that was moved along and approved by everyone else."_

_The conversation has gotten so confusing I'm going to need a Dictionary Of A Girl's Brain in a minute to continue along with it. _

_However, I am saved by the fact (or maybe doomed, however you look at ) that we've reached the Slytherin dungeons._

_Ginny and I looked at each other and took a deep breath._

"_Okay, here we go," I said, and knocked on the portrait, who looked very annoyed by the fact that I was standing there and banging on his canvas._

_We waited for the door to fly open and hexes to come flying out._

"_Hello ladies," the ever-suave Blaise Zabini greeted. "What can I do for you?"_

_He said that last part mostly to Ginny, but I just ignored that fact and said, "Is Luna here? We need our wands back."_

"_Oh, yeah," he replied. "Hold on, let me go get her. Wait there."_

_I stood there and tried to imagine nice things. Draco naked, Johnny Depp naked, Draco naked, Brad Pitt naked, all the guys in 300 naked, Draco naked…_

"_Hello," the voice of Luna Lovegood broke through my reverie. "I have your wands right here. Sorry about that, guys."_

_She seemed remarkably lucid for someone whose head is often up somewhere around Saturn and who spent the entire night fucking their brains out._

"_Um, thanks Luna," Ginny answered, taking our wands. "Promise to tell us everything, okay?"_

_Luna nodded and disappeared back into the dungeons, the portrait shutting behind her._

"_How is she even allowed in there?" I asked as we walked away as quickly as possible. "How are they not all killing her?"_

"_She's with Theodore Nott. The Slytherins have always been open to sex with other Houses-I think Gryffindor is the only House that maintains relationships with all Houses except Slytherin. Besides, Luna's a pureblood. They're not going to say anything to her. Nott would probably hex their eyebrows off if they gave her a hard time. And you know how the power structure works in that House. It's kind of like a dictatorship. And your lovely Sex God is the king. Ugh, our wands have been sitting in the same room with them while they were bumping uglies. I'm so washing mine in the first bathroom we pass."_

" '_Bumping uglies'?" I mocked. _

"_Yeah, my mum says it. Mostly when she's yelling at my brothers."_

The class finally ends and I thankfully get up and collect my things as quickly as possible.

"Hey, Hermione," says a voice from behind me.

Obviously not quickly enough.

"Hey Harry, Ron," I say, turning around with a fake smile plastered on my face.

I could really use a day without those two. I mean, they are my friends and all, but while everyone else in their seventh year at Hogwarts seems to have grown up-or at least started to-Harry and Ron still act like overgrown third years.

"Where have you been all weekend?" Harry asks, as they fall in step beside me out in the hallway.

"Well, on Friday I had homework, and on Saturday I was with Ginny," I reply. It doesn't matter to me if Harry and Ron know I was out, but it will matter to Ginny. Ron's a notorious tattle-tale.

Even though he's 17.

Just because he's not smart enough to think of getting out of Hogwarts for the evening doesn't mean that other people aren't.

"We came to the Heads' rooms to find you and you weren't there," Ron puts in.

"Which night?" I ask, fighting the urge to tell him that he really needs to clarify what he's talking about, or else he's going to remain a very confused adult for the rest of his life.

"Both nights," Harry says.

"On Friday I was in the library," I inform them. This is not a lie. I knew that Saturday night was out for doing homework, since I'd be out trying to do Draco, and I assumed that Sunday would be a day and night of recovery.

And I was also hoping that I would be too busy fooling around with my new hot boyfriend Draco Malfoy in order to even think about homework.

But, no such luck.

"And what about Saturday?" Harry presses, and I open my mouth to lie my ass off when I am saved (again, second time in two days) by the Sex God himself.

"Come on, Granger, we have to go meet with Dumbledore," he drawls, pushing past Harry and Ron and grabbing my arm to pull me along with him.

I wave helplessly at Harry and Ron and try to look as annoyed as possible until we've rounded the corner.

"Thank you so much. You've just saved me from the new Hogwarts Inquisitorial Parenting Squad. Dad and Dad wanted to know where I've been all weekend."

"And? Why does it matter if they know?" the Sex God asked, looking at me curiously, and I suddenly realize that I've just made myself sound like one of those annoying girls who makes a big deal out of things like going to a club and who acts like she just infiltrated the government or something.

"It doesn't matter to me," I reply, smoothing my skirt. "But Ginny will get in trouble if Ron finds out. And I don't want her to suffer. I'm sure it will get around eventually courtesy of the Hogwarts Rumor Mill but in the meantime we're avoiding tell them."

And at that exact moment, "them" come whipping around the corner, wands drawn.

"HANDS OFF HER, MALFOY!" Ron bellows, his face as red as a tomato.

Ron's ability to match his skin color with his hair is remarkable.

"Ron, he's not touching me. I'm fine," I say. I have to head this potentially explosive situation off before it gets out of control.

"Don't ever manhandle Hermione like that again, Malfoy," Harry says. "Do you need one of us to escort you, Herms?"

I wasn't aware that when I enrolled in Hogwarts, the package included a second set of parents.

"No, Harry, I'm pretty sure I can take care of myself," I say, trying to keep the sarcasm from coming out too much.

"DON'T EVER TOUCH HER AGAIN!" Ron roars.

"Temper, Weasel," the Sex God says idly. "Can we go now Granger?"

"Ron, nobody's yelling," I say impatiently. Ron could definitely use some anger management before he blows a gasket. "Malfoy and I have to be off. We're late for a meeting with Dumbledore."

Now it's Harry's turn to grab Ron by the arm and haul him away, and Draco and I continue to make our way to the Headmaster's office.

"I don't know how you can count on Weasley for protection," McHot As Hell says, shaking his head. "He looks like he got up and started walking around before the anesthesia wore off from his lobotomy."

Sexy and intelligent and witty.

Oh my.

"Ron and Harry aren't all bad. They can be quite fun when they're not out to save the world, which isn't often," I say.

Is this conversation part of what Ginny would deem as "getting to know the Sex God better"?

"Besides," I continue, determined to have at least some progress to report back to her at lunch, "not all of your friends are known for the brains. What about Crabbe and Goyle?"

The Sex God shakes his head and snorts. "My so-called 'friendship' with Crabbe and Goyle is the product of two fathers trying to ingratiate themselves with my more powerful and influential father. They actually think that if their sons quote-on-quote 'keep Draco Malfoy safe at school' -as if I even need their protection-then my father will put in a good word for them with different businesspeople and officials and they'll be able to improve their own means of living and reputations."

And here I'd always thought that Draco's friendship with those two dunderheads was a product of his own scheming, social-climbing personality.

This must be reflected by a look on my face, because he laughs and says, "I can see you don't believe me, Granger. A lot of people don't. But think about it-with the prestige and honor the Malfoy name has had for centuries, and with my father's influence and my own decidedly charismatic personality, do you really think I would need help from anyone else to get to the top?"

"But you let them act as bodyguards for you during your first few years here," I protest. "Are you at all surprised that people think that? I can see the logic in what you're telling me, and now popular opinion sounds ridiculous, but you really can't blame anyone but yourself for those opinions, Malfoy."

He laughs in surprise and says good-naturedly, "No, I suppose I can't, Granger. I should have know you'd point out that I am responsible for my own actions. Sour Patch Kids."

Sour Patch Kids? What does candy have to do with the refreshingly intelligent conversation I'm holding with the hottest man I have ever laid eyes on?

Oh, right, yeah. We're at Dumbledore's office.

"Come on, then. Ladies first," the Sex God says, standing aside so I can enter the doorway before him.

Aw, and he's even a gentleman. I like him more now.

"Let's go see what Dumbledore has in mind."

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The meeting, as it turned out, was not about what Dumbledore had for us, but, rather, what we have for him.

Every year, apparently, Dumbledore has the Heads put together something for the seventh years, since it's their last year at Hogwarts. It can be anything-a ball, a party, an outing.

The Sex God looks annoyed.

Annoyed might be an understatement.

"I can't believe this!" he fumes the moment the door closes behind us. "Not only do we have to do our homework and study for our tests and have our own lives, but that dingbat expects us to 'put together something nice for the seventh years!' Next thing you know, he'll be telling us that we ought to do this every week!"

"Well, what did you expect when you accepted the position?" I ask pointedly. "I actually think we got off easy. He could have told us what he wanted us to plan. Let's just pick the easiest one and go with that. How about a Halloween party? Everyone has to dress up in a costume of their choice, and we'll host it in our common room. See? Done. No planning on our part."

Sometimes I pride myself on my intelligence and quick-thinking. The only thing a party will require is a costume, invitations (with a sneaky one sent to Ginny), and some drinks.

"Granger, do you realize how much work planning a party is? And I'm not one to do the usual put-everyone-in-a-room-and-hope-they-get-along type of party. As the party hosts, it will be our job to provide the entertainment and our guests' job to show up," the Sex God replies. "And don't be all annoyed. You should have known I wouldn't have a normal party. I am, after all, a Malfoy."

My internal eyeballs are rolling so hard at this point they're practically giving me a headache.

I should have counted on Mr. High Maintenance over here to make this more work.

I should also make a mental note that that is one thing I DON'T like about Draco Malfoy. His high maintenance attitude. It drives me bonkers.

"I know," he says, taking longer strides as he gets more and more into whatever idea has popped into his elitist little blond head. "We'll have an emergency room party. Straight out of _Party Monster_. Everyone will have to dress up as someone in an emergency room. It'll be fun."

Oh dear Merlin. This is the mother of all Bad Ideas.

"Malfoy," I argue, hurrying to keep up with him. "That emergency room party consisted of people being 'prescribed' drugs. Not only would Dumbledore blow his hat off, but we'd also get expelled. Not to mention arrested. And when did you see that movie? It's a Muggle movie. I wouldn't have thought you'd be caught dead anywhere near anything having to do with Muggles."

"You remember my friend Nigel from Club Azkaban, right? Well he studies Muggle culture. I was at his house one day and he was watching it. He watches any and all Muggle documentaries that cross his path."

"Wait a minute," I say so forcefully it actually stops Malfoy in his tracks. "He _studies_ Muggles? Like some kind of test tube experiment? That's ridiculous. Muggles are _people_, you blond ingrate, not scientific objects."

"Granger, use that bushy head of yours. Muggles have gotten along for centuries without magic. Of course wizards want to find out how and to see what has become of them. It's anthropological science, not laboratory science. And if Muggles found out about wizards, they would want to study them too. It's natural."

I hate to admit it, but he does have a point.

I just get all touchy when it comes to the subject of Muggles because I usually find myself in the awesome position of being the only person in the room who has anything positive to say about them. And while Muggles are as relevant as, say, a new cell phone plan to most of the population of Hogwarts, I have had to stand up for Muggles against a few die-hards a couple of times.

We continue on our way down to the Great Hall in silence (I'm thinking really hard of things to talk about but nothing is coming to mind!). At the entrance, with a, "Well I'll see you back in the common room later to plan," the High-Maintenance-Elitist-Cutest-Prat-Ever saunters over to his table and sits down with his friends.

Don't stand there like a hall decoration, Hermione. Go and do the same thing.

"Were you and the Sex God together?" Ginny whispers to me the moment I slide into my seat next to her.

"We had to meet with Dumbledore in his office. He wants us to plan some bullshit Halloween thing so the seventh years can enjoy their last year at Hogwarts. We're having a party and Malfoy is making everything difficult by wanting to give it a theme," I rant as I viciously stab some chicken and shake it off onto my plate. "He really didn't strike me as the 'plan a party' type of person. I thought I was getting off easy by suggesting that everyone wear a costume and just come and have a good time, but nooooo, he had to go and tell me how he's a MALFOY and they just don't DO things that way."

"Alright, easy Hermione, no need to go and get yourself in a tiff," Ginny says, taking a bite of her sandwich. "And hurry up with that. I want to talk to you privately before next class."

She rushes me through the little chicken salad I made by putting chicken on top of some lettuce and other assorted vegetables and pretty much court-martials me to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom the moment I'm done.

If you think about it, Moaning Myrtle is really an awfully pervy name. It sounds a lot like the title of a B-rated porno flick.

Just saying.

Luckily, there's no sign of the ghostly porn title herself, and we sit down comfortably on the drier sinks to talk.

"Look," Ginny begins. "This party planning thing could not have come at a better time. Now you HAVE to interact with the Sex God because you guys are planning something together."

"Yeah, but that still doesn't make up for the fact that his crazy psycho ex wants to kill me," I snort.

"What do you mean?" Ginny asks, and I realize that I didn't tell her about that part of the fight between Pansy and the Sex God.

"When I was listening to them fighting, Pansy brought up this whole bit about how she heard that Malfoy and I had hung out during the weekend and how she thought something was going on and how she wants to kick my ass," I rattle off.

Ginny shrugs.

"I wouldn't worry about it. I think Pansy says that about every girl who looks the wrong way at Malfoy, which is every girl. Pansy doesn't actually have that many friends. She mostly just has people who don't want to get on her bad side and become social pariahs. I don't think she's ever actually gotten into a fight," she informs me. "She just talks shit about people, takes out social hits on them, and has occasionally been known to hex people. What did you think she would do, break out her wand and challenge you to a duel?"

No, I just thought she would break out her wand and shove it through my eyeball.

"She wouldn't challenge you anyway," Ginny continues. "She knows you're smarter and faster than she is."

I smile doubtfully. Never underestimate a woman scorned, and at this moment, Pansy is that woman scorned.

The bell rings at that exact moment, startling Ginny and causing her to lose her precarious grip on her backpack. It lands with a loud THUD on the tile floor and brings Moaning Myrtle herself out of whatever u-bend she was previously moping in.

They should really start calling her "Moping Myrtle." Let's keep it G-rated, guys.

"What sniff are you inhalation of snot trying to do?" she wails. "Do you hoarks down phlegm think I can't hear? Just because I'm dead doesn't mean sniff sniff I can't hear!"

"Oh shut it Myrtle," I snarl. "We were on our way out anyway."

Myrtle starts to cry even more loudly and Ginny and I take it as our cue to get the hell out of there.

Christ. Everything and everyone I have to deal with lately is temperamental. Temperamental ghosts, temperamental ex-girlfriends, temperamental Ron Weasleys.

If I don't get a break soon, I am probably going to lose it. And by "it" I mean my mind, not my lunch.

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My break is obviously not going to show up today.

After a long day of classes, double Potions ("Ten points from Gryffindor for not being able to accept the fact that I, the teacher, know more than you do, Miss Granger"), a pop quiz in Transfiguration, and Ron projectile vomiting all over Harry at dinner, I am more than ready to call it a night.

I'm almost safely up to my rooms when…

"Come on, Granger, let's do this," the Sex God says, walking out of his room and down the staircase. "No sneaking off to your own room now."

Shit motherfucker fuck shit.

I sigh and walk back down.

Escape foiled.

We settle ourselves on the couch and I pull a fresh sheet of parchment and a quill out of my bag.

"Okay," I say, trying to rub the tiredness out of my eyes, "you want to have an emergency room party, right? So how should we do this?"

"Hermione Granger, asking ME how to do something?" the Sex God teases, and I suddenly feel myself sitting up a little bit straighter.

The teasing, the logical rejection…if ever there was a boy who knew how to send mixed signals, it's Draco fucking Malfoy.

"Well it was your idea," I say. "Therefore I'm going to leave all the heavy lifting to you."

"Oh thanks," he shoots back sarcastically. "Well, here's what I was thinking. We send out invitations in the shape of stretchers. We tell everyone they have to dress like someone in an emergency room. It can be anyone-patient, orderly, Mediwitch, Healer-anyone. And we don't have this party at Hogwarts."

Um, yeah. Because Dumbledore is just going to puff on his joint and let us transport all of the seventh years off the property.

That'll happen.

"What do you propose we do? Rent out some club to have this party in? I don't know about you, Malfoy, but I don't think the other seventh years have that kind of money. And besides, renting out a club would only make Dumbledore and the other teachers think that this party is going to be so wild we can't have it at Hogwarts." I don't whether it's my exhaustion or my irritation with this day talking, but that came out a little more harshly than I intended.

"Well for your information, Granger," he says huffily. "I was going to suggest having the party at Malfoy Manor. My parents always go to a friend's house for a few days at Halloween because I'm never around. They won't mind if I tell them I want to have a Halloween party at home. And I was also going to say that everyone can bring a friend from outside of their year, or a magical friend from outside of school."

Awwwww.

Awwww.

Must…resist…pouncing….

He is so cute right now.

Look away.

No, really.

You're staring.

I finally manage to tear my eyes away from that sight for sore eyes.

He's waiting for you to say something about the party.

There's a party in my pants and Draco Malfoy is invited.

The emergency room party.

Doctor Malfoy, I have an itch I need you and your (hopefully) giant penis to scratch.

Oh god. Stop. Now.

"Um, that sounds good," I stammer, casting about for more of a response. "It'll help to fill out the party a bit more, and everyone will have someone they know to talk to. But we should make one thing clear: the people everyone decides to bring are not dates. We shouldn't turn this into a stressful 'bring a date' situation. I mean, if people want to come with dates they can, but it's not mandatory like that stupid Yule Ball in fourth year."

I mostly said that for my own benefit. Although it would seem only right for the Head Girl and the Head Boy to choose each other as dates to promote House unity and all that chow chow, everyone knows that isn't how things work.

And couple parties suck for single people.

Like moi.

I could've strangled Dumbledore when he had the Heads plan the Yule Ball during the Triwizard Tournament. Not only did I have to worry about being 14 and an awkward braniac and my friend dying, but I also should worry about finding a DATE?!

I thought that was ridiculous.

Might just be me though.

"Malfoy, how do you expect to get all of the seventh years out of Hogwarts and to your house? And won't your parents be mad that it won't just be Slytherins playing doctor in your manor?"

Is it just me, or did that sound really dirty?

"We'll use a Portkey," the Sex God replies as if transporting about 200 people to his (probably big, hopefully just like something else) house is a normal weekend in his world. "And my parents won't have to know, because they won't be there, will they? And let's say for some odd reason they are there. It's a costume party. Taking place in partial darkness. I don't think they'll be scouring the room, ripping off costumes and searching for the "GRYFFINDOR" that was obviously branded into your back the day you came here. Really, Granger. They let me do my own thing. Stop making a big deal."

Well I got told.

Excuuuuuse me.

"Alright, well then I guess we'll just clear it with Dumbledore tomorrow," I say wearily, gathering my things.

Ha. This party is never going to happen.

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"It's happening!" Ginny announces, slapping a suspiciously stretcher-shaped paper on the table in front of me.

I look at her questioningly and then pick up the paper and unfold it.

_Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger _

_Cordially Invite You_

_To Check Into The Emergency Room This Halloween At Malfoy Manor_

_Dress up in your wildest hospital gear and come thirsty! _

_Everyone may bring ONE MAGICAL friend-from a lower year (please no lower than fifth year) or outside of school._

_For costume questions, transportation details, or anything else, see either the Head Boy or the Head Girl._

"Why do you look so surprised, Hermione?" Ginny asks, waving slightly as Harry and Ron settle themselves in next to her. "Didn't you help to plan this?"

For once in my life, I would have to admit that I did not participate in any planning whatsoever. In fact, I'm so out of the loop that when two days went by without my gorgeous blond counterpart mentioning anything, I actually thought that he was sulking and that Dumbledore had rightly nipped the idea in the bud.

Silly me.

"Um, yeah, of course. When did you get this?" I ask, handing her back the invitation. I never told the Sex God who I wanted to invite.

"Just this morning," she replies, stuffing it back into her bag.

"Gin," interjects the red-headed child I kind of want to smack from down the table, "I don't think Mum would approve of you going."

Ginny turns on him faster than a rabid dog that's just been bitten in the ass. "Ronald Weasley, if you tell Mum about this I'll hex you so far into the future you'll know what an emergency room in 2456 looks like!"

As I rise from my seat on the bench I see various seventh years from different Houses starting to approach me.

Oh damn. In a minute or two I'm going to be swamped with questions about a party I never thought would be approved.

I look to Harry and the Weasleys for help, but they're busy poring over the invitation and talking excitedly about the upcoming party.

I think.

Either they're talking excitedly or Ginny and Ron are arguing.

Whatever.

I make a mental note to yell at the Sex God later.

He's walking past me out the door.

Perfect. I can escape these morons running up to me to grill me with questions and I can yell at the Sex God now.

"Malfoy!" I call, running to catch up with him. He turns, a look of pure shock on his face as I drag him across the Entrance Hall and stuff him into a broom closet like a bad outfit.

"Granger, what are you doing? First you're getting drunk in clubs and hitting on me and now you're stuffing me into broom closets?" he asks, half-annoyed, half-amused.

I, on the other hand, am not amused. I am all annoyed.

"Draco Malfoy, what do you mean by going to Dumbledore without me, not bothering to tell me he okay'd your potentially explosive party idea, and then going and making invitations without me again and telling everyone it's okay to ask me questions?! Did you see all the people coming up to hound me? I didn't even know about this party being given the green light until this morning!" I scold furiously. "And why did you go and invite Ginny for me? How did you know to do that?"

"I didn't invite Ginny for you," he says, and through the light pushing its way through the door frame I can see the confusion on his face. "Blaise wanted her to go. And you were so busy studying and doing whatever else it is that you do and I was so busy with Quidditch and studying that I just forgot. I made up the invitations myself and mailed them out last night. Everyone seems pretty excited."

_Blaise_ wanted Ginny to go? Well that's just a whole new set of sprinkles on the cupcake.

I decide to ignore this in favor of realizing what an intimate and cozy setting a broom closet is. I'm standing not a foot away from the man of my dreams. No wonder so many people at Hogwarts get it on in the broom closet.

And as much as I also hate to admit this, I kind of like that Draco Malfoy is a take-charge guy with initiative. I mean, I'm usually the one taking charge and doing everything, and it's kind of…sexy to find a guy who's the same way.

"Granger? Once you're done swooning over my good looks, can we please get out of here? I'm going to be late for class," the Sex God says, abruptly shattering my fantasy in which he has me pinned against the broom and mop handles.

"For the love of all that is holy, I was drunk, Malfoy, get over it," I snarl, and with that, I throw open the closet door and step out into the Entrance Hall.

As I walk to class, I comfort myself with the thought that Dumbledore wouldn't have given the okay if he thought the party would be too out of control.

Right?

**0000000000**

**I'm so damn good with cliffhangers.**

**Don't worry, the party will be bitchin', just like the action that is slowly but surely making its way to your computer screens.**

**You know what's up.**

**-Carrie**


	23. Twists And Confusion Draughts

-1**Thank you for all of your lovely reviews. I am really excited about this chapter.**

**I am so happy everyone feels like they can relate to this story. A lot of the time I'm actually writing based on personal experience. **

**DISCLAIMER: J.K. Rowling shot a gaping hole through my sign that said, "I own Harry Potter." My hair is singed. But no matter. Never retreat, never surrender. That's right, J.K. You and your shotgun will not make me give up so easily.**

**0000000000**

If one more person asks me if they have to bring a date, I will not be responsible for my actions.

No matter where I go, people with questions are waiting for me, waving everything from invitations to ridiculous costume sketches in my face. They ask me who else is going, why someone else invited the person they wanted to invite, if I'll help them with their costumes.

I don't mind answering other students' questions. I don't mind helping people. I like having the authority to aid other students.

But this is just insane.

"Why isn't Malfoy being bothered by people asking questions?" I complain, slumping into a comfortable armchair in the Gryffindor common room. Despite the fact that Halloween is only 5 days away, the teachers haven't let up on homework. In fact, Snape the Understanding went so far as to assign a project, due Thursday, the day before Halloween. He let us choose our own partners, so I get to work with Harry and Ron for once.

Harry's actually not that bad in Potions. He's been pretty helpful and has actually offered to do most of the research because I've been getting slammed with party questions and have had to help Draco Malfoy Party Planner out a few times.

Ron, however, is another story.

Take this evening, for instance.

Both Ron and Harry had Quidditch practice for a few hours. Then we were supposed to work on our project.

Exhibit A: Harry Potter, bent over a book about Confusion-Inducing Draughts.

Exhibit B: Ronald Weasley, nowhere in sight.

Did he go to the bathroom, you ask? Did he run to the library for more books?

No, nothing so innocent.

He's SLEEPING.

That's right.

Ron was complaining so much about being _tired_ and _sore_ that Harry and I finally told him that if he wasn't going to quit whining he ought to just go upstairs to bed and let us get some work done.

It's all I can do right now not to report Ron's lack of cooperation to Professor Snape.

I mean, yes, Ron is my friend. And yes, I used to have a mild crush on Ron before I discovered Draco Malfoy to be One Of The Finer Things In Life.

But sometimes, Ron's like a baby seal you just want to club.

Harry and his hero complex get on my nerves occasionally, but overall he's a good guy. More tolerable once you separate him from Ron.

If anything can ruin my chances of being the Sex God's goddess, it's Ronald Weasley.

I know boys are behind girls maturity-development-wise, but if Ron were any further behind, he'd be going backwards.

Friends who are annoying. I could write a book about it.

But back to the subject at hand.

"Because you're more approachable than Malfoy is, Herms," Harry informs me, running a hand through his hair.

I thought my hair could never be tamed, but if there was a prize, Harry Potter would win it for Most Unmanageable Hair.

"But he's Head Boy. And the party is happening at HIS house. You'd think more people would ask him questions," I sigh, picking up another book and flipping through it.

"Have you even been to his house to help him set up?" Ginny asks from the armchair across from mine.

"No, his parents are there and I'm guessing they don't know their house will be filled with people not in Slytherin. He's doing the setup with some help from the Slytherin prefects. He said it would be easier that way."

I'm actually rather happy about this. The thought of meeting Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy is enough to shake the foundations of my Gryffindor-supplied courage.

I don't even want to think about how that meeting would go.

"Well at least none of us have to meet the illustrious Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy," Harry says mockingly.

"They'll probably find out about this party. There's no way the Sex God can hide it from them. It's going to be so wild it'll probably end up making the papers. Not to mention the house will collapse from having non-Slytherins running around in it," I remark, taking notes from a promising paragraph about Cornelius the Confused Coroner.

It takes me a few moments to realize that Ginny and Harry are staring at me.

"What?" I ask. "It's true. I can't believe Dumbledore agreed to this."

"Did you just call Draco Malfoy, Bane of Everyone's Existence, a 'Sex God'"? Harry asks slowly, and Ginny slouches as far as she can into her armchair, doing her best to hide behind her pocket-sized book.

Shit motherfucker fuck shit.

My guilt is written all over my face.

There's no way out of this one.

"Hermione, I am surprised that you of all people would find someone that shallow, black-hearted, and cruel attractive," Harry says, setting down his quill. "That prat has done nothing nice for you. He has belittled you, insulted you, and tried to hex you for the past six years. I can't believe you of all people would actually find him good-looking after that." I open my mouth to protest, but he cuts me off. "And what, you're going to tell me he's changed, that he's grown up and matured? Tigers don't change their stripes, Hermione. Even though he may on appearance seem to have gotten past all that, you'll see upon closer acquaintance that while he may treat you with respect as someone equal to him in status at Hogwarts, he will never treat you with respect as a person. He does not care about you. If he is nice to you, it is because he is trying to further his own reputation and standing. He has ulterior motives, Hermione. And I don't think you want to find out what they are. I'm going to bed now. I hope that this is just a silly little crush and that you'll think about what I've said and realize that I'm right."

Ginny and I sit in absolute silence.

Harry gathers his things and walks towards the staircase leading to the boys' dormitories. He pauses on the first step and turns around.

"And for your sake, I won't tell Ron about this little incident. Or anyone else, for that matter."

With that final comment, he turns and disappears into the darkness.

I would've preferred it if he yelled. Nothing is worse than the calm, controlled voice of disappointment.

I didn't think I could feel any worse this week, but would you look at that-I feel worse.

"I've never heard Harry talk like that to anyone before," Ginny says quietly, lowering her book to her lap.

"He's probably right," I respond, closing my book and stuffing my things back into my bag. "I feel so stupid. I let the fact that Malfoy is good-looking get in the way of the fact that he's a scumbag."

"I'm not sure if I would judge him so quickly," Ginny shrugs. "Harry has a very black and white view of things. And I would definitely classify this situation as gray. You hung out with him at the club and he didn't treat you like garbage. We had a lot of fun."

"The only reason he was hanging out with us was because he thought we were amusing," I argue. "He wasn't sitting with us because we're his friends."

"But he didn't tell anyone about the whole you telling him he's cute thing," Ginny says thoughtfully. "And he defended you against Pansy, and you guys have been getting along lately."

"He's probably only keeping that cute thing to himself until he can use it against me at the right time. And he was protecting himself from being associated with me when he was arguing with Pansy, and we're only getting along so the Heads' rooms aren't filled with stress and tension," I insist. "Look, Gin, Harry's right. I can think Malfoy is cute all I want, but I have to see him for what he really is. I'm going to go to bed. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

I trudge out of the common room and into the corridor. How could I have been so blind? This isn't some Romeo and Juliet love story. This is Real Life, and things don't happen against all odds in Real Life.

But what about what Ginny said?

I know Harry has a very strict view on All Things Draco Malfoy, but I can't help wondering if he's let his prejudice go too far.

Has Malfoy changed and grown up? Or has he just become more cunning in hiding his evilly self-serving ways? Is it even possible for someone to change, especially someone like Draco Malfoy?

By the time I reach the wooden doors, I have a splitting headache.

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The next two days pass without incident. Outwardly, I am completely normal. Doing homework, answering all of the inane questions about the party, nearly taking other people's ears off as I raise my hand for every question in class.

It's easier for me to keep it together if I throw myself into schoolwork.

Yes, you can bring a friend to the party. Excuse me while I go into this corner and quietly have a nervous breakdown. I'll be back in 5 minutes. Just sit and wait.

Whenever I even pause for a minute, all I can think about are my very conflicting (not to mention confusing) feelings towards McBlondie. I like him, he's a horrible human being, I think he can change, I like him, I like him not.

Christ on a bicycle. Just give me a flower and get it over with.

On Wednesday evening, Ginny comes over with some dinner to talk me down from the mental ledge.

"I don't think I could be any more confused," I admit, biting into a chicken sandwich. "I wasn't sure what I actually liked about the Sex God before my little slip, and Harry has somehow managed to make me even more unsure."

"I personally think you should just discount Harry's feelings on the Sex God altogether," Ginny says. "He's totally biased. Of course, he is right in some respects. So just be careful."

"Easy for you to say," I mumble through a mouthful of chicken and bread. "You like Harry Potter, Golden Boy of the wizarding world. And Blaise Zabini is currently playing runner-up. Nobody has nearly as big a problem with him as they do with the Sex God."

"I don't know if I like Blaise yet," Ginny corrects. "He is a hot piece of ass though. Did I tell you he invited me to go with him to the party?"

"I found out from the Sex God," I tell her. "I was going to invite you as my date, but Zabini beat me to it."

Ginny blushes a bit. "He didn't even ask me if I wanted to go with him-just went right over my head and told Malfoy. Then he told me about it later." She pauses for a moment in thought. "It's kind of hot-that take-charge thing. Harry would dither around so much I'd have to tell him to invite me."

"Speaking of Harry, won't he be upset when he finds out you're not going with him?" I ask.

"No," Ginny replies. "I told him I was going with you. I don't think he's bringing anybody."

It is at this moment that I realize something. If Harry's going that means…

"Ron will be there," I sigh. "Damn it. This party just got even less appealing. I didn't realize that was possible."

I blame myself. I should have kept in mind the fact that Ronald Weasley is indeed a part of the seventh year Hogwarts students, and that as much as it would pain him, the Sex God would have to include him in the general invitation.

"Hermione," Ginny says, setting down her food and smiling a bit, "have you ever seen Ron around alcohol?"

"Um, no," I reply. "In case you've forgotten, that little outing we had to Club Azkaban was my first experience drinking with people younger than 45."

"Ron can't drink a lot, but he thinks he can," Ginny informs me. "He's always challenging other guys, usually my brothers, to go shot for shot, telling them what a good drinker he is. And my brothers drink him under the table within an hour. Without fail. Every time. Then he throws up and passes out for the rest of the night." She smiles triumphantly and goes back to her food. "So if you want to get rid of Ron….I just handed you the opportunity on a silver platter. I'll leave the rest to you."

"Will he take a challenge from anyone? Does he ever turn anyone down?" I ask.

A crazy idea is forming in my head. One that may put me in the good favor of the not-so-benevolent Sex God, one that will erase any and all suspicions he has about me liking Ron, and one that will make my night (and everyone else's) that much easier.

"I've never known him to turn anyone down. Wait…you're not thinking…are you seriously going to do that?" Ginny asks. She must be reading the light bulb over my head.

Make that a sun. This is such a good idea, a sun is beaming over my head. Look away from my brilliance, you might get burned.

I hear the doors in the common room open and close.

McI-Hope-It's-Big-Wand is back from Quidditch practice.

"I'll be right back," I tell Ginny, leaping off the bed and hurrying to get downstairs and chat with the Sex God before he goes upstairs to his Sex Lair.

Yeah, that's right. The Sex Lair. I like to imagine that whatever he does up there is sexy. Even if he is just brushing his teeth…and changing his clothes…

Okay, stop. Before you get a case of romantic novel Sopping Panties. Enough.

I hate the word "panties." So stupid. Not to mention chauvinistic.

I'm almost out the door when Ginny says, "Hermione, stop."

"What?" I ask, turning around.

"If you're going to do what I think you're about to do, you're going to regret it. You're not quite that underhanded and Slytherinny."

I close the door and walk back into the room. "You're right," I say, slightly relieved. She is right. If I went down there and told Malfoy how to make Ron lose all brain function (what little he has), I would never be able to forgive myself.

Damn my morals. It's times like this I wish they didn't exist.

"I know I'm right. I also know that while you're not quite that underhanded, I am," Ginny says and leaps off the bed with a huge smirk on her face.

"YOU'RE going to do it?" I hiss, grabbing her arm and whirling her around.

"Yeah. Are you kidding? I don't want my big brother standing around, scaring off potential lovers and just about everyone else. Besides, he'll tattle on me to Mum, just like he always does even when he's off doing something even worse. Look, this way you won't feel bad, and you also won't feel like it had anything to do with you. You're an honest and upstanding citizen, Herms. I wouldn't want your vagina longing for Sex God dick to get in the way of that."

I let go of her arm and proceed to follow her downstairs. Just because I'm not going to be the one doing this doesn't mean I can't spectate and live vicariously.

The Sex God is standing in the kitchen, chugging orange juice out of the carton at record-breaking speed.

Quidditch practice make you all sweaty, Draco? Here, let me help you out of that uniform.

"Malfoy!" Ginny calls, striding over. "I want you to do something for me."

I meander along behind her. I'm iffy about whether I should go in or stay out in the common room like a coward.

The Sex God sets down the carton and leans up against the counter, arms folded across his chest.

I am painfully reminded of a certain Sunday when my dreams were crushed by logic.

"Depends on what it is, Weasley," he drawls, examining his fingernails in a show of boredom.

"I want either you or one of your friends to challenge my brother to go shot for shot." Ginny's a straight-shooter. Me, I would've beat around the bush and probably wimped out. Good thing she offered to do this.

"And why would I want to do that?" the Sex God asks, but I can tell his interest has been peaked.

"Because then we'll both get what we want," Ginny replies as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Ron will pass out under the table because he can't drink worth his salt. He'll be out for the rest of the night. We can put him in a room somewhere in your house and enjoy ourselves into the wee hours."

"How long does it take to get him under the table?" the Sex God asks casually.

"About an hour," Ginny says.

"A whole hour? Weasley, I don't think anyone on the planet can go shot for shot for an entire hour. Not even me."

There's my boy. Arrogant, yet somehow exceedingly hot.

"Well it doesn't go on for an hour straight. A few shots in he'll start taking little breaks and talking lots of smack," Ginny informs him. "Pretty soon he'll tell you he can go on but he doesn't think you can, and next thing you know he's not feeling well and has to make a run for the bathroom. That's where he usually passes out."

"This is an interesting little scheme you have going on here," the Sex God says. He looks over Ginny's shoulder at me dithering around behind her and says, "Granger, I can see you back there. Are you in on this too?"

"She just told me a few minutes ago," I say, coming forward. "I don't think it's such a bad idea."

I am a horrible person. I am going to hell.

"You ladies keep surprising me," the Sex God says, laughing a bit. "Well in that case I'm sure we can find some way to knock Weaselby out for the night so everyone can enjoy themselves. If you'll excuse me, I have some homework to do."

"That was shockingly easy," Ginny whispers as we walk back upstairs.

"Well of course it was easy," I retort. "We told Malfoy how to get Ron out of the picture. It's like giving Lindsay Lohan cocaine. She knows what to do with it. Now we'll just have to see how it plays out."

0000000000

The next morning, I find myself leaving my room and walking down the stairs with trepidation. What if the Sex God says something to me about the night before? What if he thinks I'm the kind of person who throws away my own morals just to be one of the "cool" kids?

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

Before the day is out, I'm going to have an anxiety attack.

I hope he's not down there. I just want to get out of the Heads' dorms and get to class. I have that horrible Potions project due this morning.

As my luck would have it, a certain blond Slytherin is sitting on the couch reading, being the picture of sexiness.

"Got a costume yet, Granger?" he drawls, looking up when he hears me coming down the stairs.

"Ginny said she'd put something together for me," I reply.

NOTE: Allowing Ginny to put a costume together for me without my supervision was NOT my idea. In fact, it's almost as bad an idea as this party. I can just see her giving me a nurse's outfit made out of Twizzlers and coconuts.

Bad, bad images.

"And you're letting her do that?" the Sex God asks in surprise.

"Have you met Ginny?" I respond, and he chuckles appreciatively.

"Point taken," he answers. "Well there's one more thing before we head off to class, Granger. Who are you taking with you? Anybody?"

My heart is suddenly beating in a nerve-wracking yet excited rhythm. Is this it? Is he going to ask me to the party as his date? Ohmigodohmigodohmigod. Quick, think of a sexy, nonchalant answer. Oh, and find something to do with your hands.

I hate that. Sometimes when I'm in a situation that makes me awkward or nervous, I consciously have to find something to do with my hands so I don't A. wring them or B. let them swing around like an orangutan's.

"I was supposed to third-wheel with Ginny and Blaise," I answer.

Wow. SO NOT SEXY. Third-wheel? You might as well have told him you're taking your cousin.

"What about you? Who are you taking?" I ask, desperately trying to recover. Despite my internal ass kicking about my last answer, I'm still all nervous-excited.

He's totally going to ask me. I can just FEEL it.

Eeeeeeee.

"Well a lot of girls want to go with me, obviously," the Sex God begins, "but I don't really want to be stuck with one girl and have to act like her date for the entire night. I figured you and I should go together. We don't really like each other that much and that way I won't feel like I can't play the field."

Well.

That was the verbal equivalent of a drive-by shooting.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, I feel something I haven't felt towards Draco Malfoy in a long time-disgust.

"Good lord, Malfoy, you're quite the arrogant prick today. While everyone else is taking a date who will actually pay attention to them, you expect me to go with you and endure your ogling of every other woman in the room? Well I don't think so. I've already agreed to go with Ginny and Blaise and that's what I'm going to do. I hope you get stuck with a clingy, overly-possessive date for the evening. And for what? You were the one who made it clear in the first place that this is not an event to which a date is required. So why don't you follow your own rules and go alone?"

I guess the stress of the week is getting to me. I didn't mean to be quite so harsh.

"Wow, Granger, what's turned you into a mean bitch this morning?" Clearly even Malfoy is surprised by the force of my outburst.

"Just you being an asshole is all. Now if you have nothing else, I need to get off to class."

UGH. WHAT AN ASSHOLE.

And yet how can he be so cute? I mean, he was the definition of dick this morning, and he's still cute.

They probably designed him that way.

His parents have got to be the best-looking people in the world.

I didn't think that I would ever turn down Draco Malfoy for a date, but I'm not stooping to subterranean levels just to be seen on his arm.

I'm so hung up on the events of this morning and the upcoming party (even I feel bad for Ron at this moment, poor thing, doesn't know what's coming to him) that I hardly pay attention in my first two classes and even end up with a scolding from Professor McGonagall.

"Miss Granger, what has gotten into you today? Quit daydreaming and come back to earth."

Sorry, Professor. I just turned down the man of my dreams for a date and was privy to a horrible scheme involving the demise of my friend.

Teachers. Really. You'd think they've never been teenagers themselves and had a lot of shit being thrown at them.

10:30AM. I'm being swept on a sea of students towards the dungeons.

Yes, going to Professor Snape's class is as ominous as it sounds. So going to his class when you have a project due is basically like voluntarily walking off a plank into a pit of dragons.

Fuck double Potions. I mean it. With all my little academic heart.

Harry better have brought that essay. I'm going to get up and kill someone if anything else sucks today.

"Take your seats, settle down," Snape says as we all file into the classroom.

Harry waves me over to the seat next to him.

"Did you bring the essay?" I whisper as I slide into the seat and carefully place my bag on the floor.

"Yeah," he replies. "Did you bring the potions?"

"Of course I did," I snap. Like I'd forget. Seriously. I pull out the three potions and place them on my desk. Plastic vials are the best thing to ever happen to poor tortured students forced to prepare potions for projects.

Snape begins as he always does, praising the Slytherins (yes, it's double Potions with the lovely Slytherins and the King-Who-I-Turned-Down) and giving the Gryffindors looks like they don't even know what's coming.

Finally, he stops singing to the high heavens over Pansy and Millicent's love potions and starts walking over to the Gryffindor side of the room.

A few thoughts.

1. Pansy making love potions? Does anyone see a frightening connection? Pansy and Draco just broke up, Pansy is upset about losing the hottest man in the world and if she has any sense wants him back…HELLO.

2. I'm not sure how walking over to the other side of the room can be scary, but somehow Snape pulls it off.

3. I don't know what the fuss was all about with Pansy and Millicent's potions as it's quite clearly THE WRONG COLOR.

I'm done.

Ron chooses this most inopportune moment to hiss, "What was our project on again?"

Professor Snape's head whips up like a shark who just smelled blood in the water. He immediately stalks over to our desk and says menacingly, "Would you like to repeat your question for the rest of the class to hear, Weasley?"

It is so quiet you can hear a pin drop. The only sound is Neville breathing behind me like an injured hippopotamus.

Come on, Neville. Everyone knows Snape can sniff out the weak ones. He's good that way.

"I….um….I asked what our project was on," Ron says quietly, staring down at the desktop.

I can practically feel the Slytherins stiffen, waiting for the kill.

"You mean you, of all people, did not participate, Mr. Weasley?" Snape asks. "Well, in that case, I suppose it's a failing grade for you, isn't it?" He straightens and looks around the room. "Anyone else foolish enough to not participate in their projects?"

No one moves.

"Good. Now, Mr. Potter and Miss Granger, if you will. Your project was on Confusion Draughts?"

Harry and I nod quickly.

Snape picks up a vial and carefully inspects it, his oily hair brushing it slightly.

I swear, if Magical Law Enforcement ever picks Snape up for something and he, I don't know, cuts off his fingers so they can't get his fingerprints, they'll be able to pull DNA out of his oily, gross hair.

That hair has a life of its own.

Really, does he _ever_ wash it?

He doesn't smell like a dirty homeless person. Does he keep getting pulled out of the shower before he can wash his hair? Or maybe he's run out of shampoo and can't get anymore with his teeny teacher's salary?

"Miss Granger, are these vials plastic?"

Uh-oh.

"Yes, Professor," I reply.

"Miss Granger, have I not specifically informed the class many times that plastic can ruin a potion's composition, rendering it no good?"

Well, if you did, I certainly don't remember it. I must've been off on a visit to Draco-Makes-Me-Orgasm Island.

"I can see by the blank look on your face that you have no idea what I'm talking about," Snape drawls. He walks away slowly, still holding the vial. "Since you either haven't been listening or just chose to think that you know more than a professor, as you always do, how about we test it out on someone to prove my point?"

WHAT?!

This can't be legal.

Where is that pot-smoking, long-nosed, constantly-meddling Headmaster when you need him?

Oh fuck.

"There's no need, Professor," I say quickly. "I believe you. I would be more than happy to re-concoct the potion and place it in a glass vial."

"Oh, but Miss Granger, you should know by now that I'm not fond of extensions," Snape says nastily. "And I do believe that it is not fair that Mr. Weasley has had no part to play in this project."

Where is a hole in the floor when you need one?

I really don't want to see this. Sometimes Snape's cruelty is really overwhelming. Without Dumbledore's seemingly blind love of this git and Lucius Malfoy's influence, he probably would've been fired years ago.

"Stand up, Mr. Weasley," Snape commands, striding once again toward our desk like the evil bat he is.

Ron rises slowly, looking as though he might faint.

"Drink this," Snape orders, and Ron takes the vial with shaking hands.

His hands aren't the only things in the room shaking. The Slytherins are also shaking.

With barely contained laughter.

Oh, and Neville is shaking so badly that if he doesn't stop soon he's going to cause a massive earthquake.

"The whole thing?" Ron asks in a choked voice.

Snape nods curtly.

Ron looks pleadingly around the room for help. None comes. I can't think of anything to say.

Ron slowly uncaps the vial and raises it to his lips. He looks towards Snape, as if waiting for the teacher to tell him to stop, that he was kidding.

This is worse than torture. I am glued to my seat. I can't believe this is happening.

Ron slowly begins to drink, making a face at what is apparently an awful taste. He's about halfway done when the vial flies out of his hands and falls to the floor, spilling its contents everywhere.

Harry has half-risen from his seat, hand outstretched, looking at Snape with murderous eyes.

Thank Merlin someone took action.

The room is deadly quiet. Even the Slytherins aren't laughing anymore.

"Get out," Snape whispers without looking at Harry. Harry silently gathers his things and walks out of the room.

"You too, Miss Granger," Snape orders, and I numbly stand up and grab my bag. Normally I would be full of protest at being kicked out of class without having done anything, but Snape is so scary right now that I would've been more disappointed if I hadn't been asked to leave.

On the way back to the Heads' dorms, I try to control the involuntary convulsions that seem to have taken over my body. I've never seen Snape do anything so cruel. What will become of Ron? What will become of the project Harry and I worked our asses off all week to perfect?

I catch up with Harry near the main staircase. He looks as shaken as I feel.

"What a fucking bastard," he says as I fall into stride with him. "He should be imprisoned for this."

I nod in agreement. "If Snape is right, that potion could have terrible effects on Ron. Do you think we should tell Dumbledore or Mrs. Weasley?"

Harry shakes his head. "I don't think Ron would want his mother getting all worried and coming up to the school. And if I know Dumbledore well enough, he would rather Ron told him himself."

"But we have to do something!" I argue. "Snape can't go around getting away with stuff like this. He'll probably just set Ron back to rights with the antidote and then it'll be Ron's word against his."

"You're right," Harry nods. "Let me think about it for a bit. Don't do anything without me, Hermione. Are you going back to your dorms for a while or will you be coming down to lunch?"

"I think I'll be staying in my dorms," I answer. "I'm too upset to face the student body and more inane questions about that damn party."

"Want me to come and keep you company until lunch? We still have another hour to go."

I'm just about to say yes when we're rudely interrupted by a very Slytherin smirk and an air of scumbag entitlement.

"Potter, Snape wants to see you in his office right now," Draco Malfoy says. Harry rolls his eyes.

"I guess I'll catch you later, Herms," he says dejectedly, and starts back off the way he came.

"Bye," I call, and then look over at the Sex God. "He doesn't want to see me?"

The Sex God shakes his head. "Nah. He let class out early. Are you going back to the dorms?"

I nod.

"I'll walk with you, then," he says, and the two of us begin back to our rooms.

I hate to admit this, but I'm suddenly not quite so upset anymore.

"So what happened after I left?" I ask. I always feel the urge to talk to avoid uncomfortable silences, even if I have nothing to say.

"Nothing really. Snape let Weasley bumble around for a few minutes and then brought him into his office to give him the antidote. Then he threw everyone out of the class." He glances over at me and then adds, "I don't think your potion hurt him, Granger. I personally didn't see much of a difference from the normal fumbling Weasley."

"That's not funny. I can't believe you Slytherins were laughing. I didn't think it was very funny," I say darkly.

"Oh come off it, Granger. Most of the Slytherins were laughing because they don't like Weasley and because the whole thing was so unreal."

I hate that. "Come off it, Granger." If I had a nickel for every time Draco Malfoy has said that to me, I'd be a god-damned millionaire.

The rest of the walk is completed in silence. I'm too busy imagining what the walk would be like if the Sex God was holding my hand to notice.

We finally reach the Heads' dorms and I plop gratefully onto the couch. To my delight, the Sex God seats himself in the easy chair.

"I'm bored," he says after a few minutes.

"Me too," I agree. "Want to watch a movie or something?"

"Ah, hoping to get into my pants again, are we Granger?" he asks with a sly smile.

I feel my face begin to burn and try my best to play it off as anger and disgust (p.s. I don't think I was very successful).

"No," I answer frostily. "Just trying to kill time before lunch."

"Fair enough," McEdible responds, leaning back in his chair. "You pick. I'm too lazy."

Nice. First I'm logically shot down, then I'm verbally run over with a Mack truck, and now I'm being treated like Draco Malfoy's personal servant.

I decide that after this morning, I don't have the energy to argue.

Sighing loudly to show my annoyance, I push myself off the couch and wander over to the DVD rack. As I'm flipping through titles and debating if I should punish him by choosing a chick flick, the Sex God says quietly, "I was an asshole to you this morning."

My heart stops. Is he…_apologizing_ to me?

As I turn around, he says hastily, "Now don't get that gooey look on your face, Granger. I'm not apologizing to you in a sudden Gryffindor-like change of heart. I'm just acknowledging the fact that I was an asshole. And I don't blame you for turning me down and picking third-wheeling as a better option. Now pick a damn movie."

That's it. I am so going down to lunch to talk to Ginny.

0000000000

I'm in the middle of (quietly-God knows I don't want the Gossip Twins down the table hearing this, no need to give them more fuel) relaying the events of this morning to Ginny when we are rudely interrupted by the sound of books dropping on the floor like a ton of bricks.

The few of us near the noise look up and see a dejected-looking Harry seating himself across the table, next to Ron.

"What's wrong, Harry?" Ginny asks.

"Snape gave me detention for two months," Harry moans, burying his face in his hands.

"That sucks," I remark, taking a bite of sandwich.

"It gets worse," Harry informs us, lifting his face up. "My detentions start tomorrow. I can't go to the party. I'll be busy scrubbing cauldrons with a toothbrush."

"Toothbrush. What a wonderful word," Ron says suddenly, breaking the ominous silence that's settled over us.

I resist the urge to laugh. I guess that antidote isn't working too quickly.

Ginny gives me a meaningful look and I know to start stuffing my sandwich down my throat before I end up spending the rest of the afternoon hungry and cranky.

The two of us finish lunch in record time and head for Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, giving the hasty excuse of extra homework to cover our tracks.

"So the Sex God apologized to you?" Ginny asks excitedly.

I'm so lucky to have a friend like Ginny. She actually finishes talking about you before she starts talking about herself. Not many friends would do that after someone drops like a bomb like the one Harry just dropped.

"He didn't exactly apologize," I tell her. "But I suppose that's the closest to an apology I'll ever get out of someone like Draco Malfoy."

She nods in agreement.

Just a quick aside here. Why is it that girls always run to the bathroom to have their private conferences? Especially girls like me and Ginny, who are in boarding school and therefore within an easy distance of our rooms? When did the bathroom become the ultimate meeting place for girls? Is it because boys can't go there? Or is because girls usually head to the bathroom in packs ( I don't. I can do number one without company) and one of them started talking about private business while they were there and it became a tradition?

Aaaand I'm quiet now.

In my head, at least.

I swear, if they ever invent brainwave spying, I will be the first person the people with straightjackets come and take away.

"So…looks like Harry's not coming to the party," I say slyly, raising my eyebrows suggestively at Ginny.

"Yeah, I heard. I was there too, remember?" she says sarcastically, but she blushes a little.

"This is very convenient for you," I comment. "Now you won't have to worry about Harry seeing you with Blaise."

"Yeah, but everyone's going to tell him once they all recover," she argues.

"Who cares? They'll all be drunk anyway. If he has any suspicions, just mollify him with that. Besides, it's not like you guys are going out or anything serious."

"You're right," Ginny agrees. "So then why does it feel like cheating, and why do I feel the need to keep it a secret?"

"Because no matter what he's still your friend and you're conscious of his feelings," I reply wisely. "Just think before you do anything. Don't only think about the repercussions-think about how you feel, too. If you like Blaise, then it's okay to go for it."

Deep down, however, I can't hide a small and uncomfortable feeling. With Harry not there, is it possible that the Slytherins will go too far with Ron?

And a small and very mean voice in my head is telling me that it's a very real possibility.

This party is the worst idea ever.

**0000000000**

**WHOA.**

**Hope you liked it.**

**Review review review.**

**-Carrie**


	24. Last Minute Thoughts

-1**Thank you for all of your wonderful reviews. They give me motivation to give you quick updates. Sorry if the last update was so slow, I actually deleted half the chapter and re-wrote it to make it better. I want to make each chapter good for you guys, so take it as a good thing that I am such a slowpoke.**

**CLARIFICATION: Several people have commented on the fact that it doesn't seem like Hermione is friends with Ron. She is. I know I haven't made that very clear besides the occasional paragraph about it, but I mostly don't have much of a place in the story for Ron right now aside from comic relief. And don't forget-she's really worried about Ginny and the Slytherins going overboard at the party and hurting Ron.**

**QUESTION: Does anyone actually listen to the music that I tell you you'll need for the chapter or should I stop doing that? I always give a title and artist because I hate it when authors don't do that.**

**DISCLAIMER: Dear J.K. Rowling, I PITY THE FOOL WHO DOESN'T KNOW THAT I OWN HARRY POTTER. Signed, Carrie, aka Ms. T.**

**0000000000**

Friday, October 31st. Halloween.

It's eleven o'clock in the morning, and I am really late for class.

I was up all night doing homework and debating whether I should tell Ron about the challenge coming his way or if I should let it go and trust that Ginny won't let anything too terrible happen to her brother.

Maybe I'll get lucky and Ron will realize that a Slytherin challenging him to drink is up to no good. Maybe he'll turn them down.

But if I know Ron well enough, without Harry by his side to make him think rationally, he'll take the challenge. Ron has always been an advocate of one-upping the Slytherins, which usually backfires and makes him puke slugs.

I can practically see how this is going to turn out.

"_Ginny, don't you think you ought to make sure Ron doesn't get too badly hurt and humiliated?" I worriedly ask._

"_My brother? Oh, you mean Ron? The paramedics already took him away. They said we'll be lucky if he comes out of the coma. But at least now I can enjoy my night!"_

"_Yeah," agrees a shirtless Blaise Zabini as he slings his arm around her neck. "Now we all can. Merlin, I hope Weasley never wakes up."_

"_And I don't think he's ever going to!" crows a triumphant Draco Malfoy (also shirtless-YUM). "Ron Weasley is finally out of the picture-everybody drink!"_

_This is met to cheering and the sound of beer cans cracking open._

Stop.

Instead of imagining horrible things happening to Ron, why don't you imagine the excuses you're going to be giving your teachers to explain your absence from class this morning.

And why are they shirtless? Because in Hermione Land, Draco Malfoy and Hot Company are not allowed to wear clothes.

If he ever finds out what goes on in my head, he'll die laughing. And then probably sue me for mental sexual harassment.

I get dressed as quickly as possible, throwing my hair into a messy bun. Then I grab my bag and sprint off to class, which luckily (and unfortunately at the same time), is Professor's Binns' History of Magic class.

I slide into the first empty seat I can find, which, as usual, is next to Neville Longbottom.

Almost immediately, Neville leans over and starts asking me questions about whatever once-interesting topic Binns is borifying.

"I just got here, Neville," I whisper, trying my best not to be mean/sarcastic/rude/short-tempered. "Let me get my bearings and then I'll help you out."

Neville turns back to his notes, looking a bit hurt. After a few minutes of staring at the splotchy mess that I assume is supposed to be aforementioned notes, he loses the hurt expression and crumples his face into a frown, breathing heavily like a winded rhinoceros as he meticulously attempts to decipher his own handwriting.

Pathetic. I don't know what Neville's going to do once he graduates from Hogwarts. Probably just wander around England unless his grandmother wises up and hires him a babysitter.

"Hermione," Neville whispers pleadingly, and I look over to see him covered in his own ink.

"What, Neville?" I ask, biting back the snappish tone of voice begging to be used.

Begging to be used. I'd beg the Sex God to use me. Use me all. Night. Long.

Long…

"Can you read this word?" he asks, pointing to a tiny scribble on his parchment.

You know, Neville would be great for upping condom sales. We could make a big poster that has his doofy picture on it and says below it, "Use a condom."

"No, I can't make it out, Neville," I say quietly. "Why don't you just take notes for the rest of the class and we'll work on it later."

"But I missed a lot of what Professor Binns was saying," Neville whines. "And I want all my notes to make sense for later."

I'm about to make some sort of bullshit blow-off response when a note bonks me in the head. After checking to make sure Binns isn't floating anywhere in my vicinity, I pick it up and open it.

_Granger-_

_Meet me in the dorms after class._

_-D. Malfoy_

What could he want? Maybe to ask me to the party again in a more civilized and polite manner? Maybe to shag me senseless?

I look over in his direction, and, with barely concealed excitement, meet his (sexy) grey eyes and nod. He nods back and goes back to whatever he was previously doing with Blaise.

And I have to go back to regretting not sitting on the floor instead of anywhere near Neville Longbottom, who's still pestering me.

"You know, Neville," I say, feeling a rush of renewing energy as I imagine the Sex God taking me on every surface in the Heads' chambers, "Binns basically just teaches out of the textbook. So when you get back to your room, just go to the chapter on the Troll Uprising of 1435 and take notes using that."

Before Neville can make up some excuse for not being able to do that, the bell rings and we're all free to go.

I make my way back to the dorms, barely dodging a few last-minute party questions and pleas to help with various gore charms.

Please let him ask me to the party again and be nice about it. Please let him ask me to the party again and be nice about it.

I barge past Desdemona and Esmerelda, who try to throw their various wooden nymph items at me, and nearly trip over the doorframe in my haste to get inside the common room.

My eagerness quickly begins to deflate as I look around and realize that no one's there. Then suddenly-

"Hey Granger," says a voice from the kitchen, and Blaise leans out and waves at me. "Are you hungry?"

Instead of blurting out, "Where's Draco?" like I want to, I say, "I'll eat something later, thanks Blaise."

I set my bag down on the floor near the couch. He wrote you the note, Hermione. He's here. Breathe. Act casual.

"Draco's up in his room," Blaise says as he makes a beeline for the empty easy chair, sandwich in hand. "Want to watch the rest of _Fight Club_ with me?"

Blaise is being uncommonly nice. Probably wants me to put in a good word with Ginny.

I will do no such thing, mind you. I'm not going to jeopardize Harry's chances with Ginny by praising a sexy, charming Italian to the high heavens.

Even if Blaise is the Prince Charming to Harry's sometimes Prince Alarming.

Shut up.

I nod in agreement, not really paying attention. Where's the Sex God? Is he upstairs in his room, getting ready the hundreds of bouquets he's going to use to properly ask me to the party while Blaise distracts me?

When the Sex God's bedroom door opens I literally have to hold onto the couch cushions in order to prevent myself from leaping towards him like a wild woman.

"Oh, Granger, you're here," he says.

Do I detect a hint of feigned nonchalance in his voice?

"I just wanted to go over some last-minute party plans," he continues, coming down the stairs. "Blaise, shove off the easy chair, that's mine. You can sit on the floor or the couch."

"Go to hell," Blaise responds, cramming his mouth full of sandwich and not taking his eyes off of Marla Singer, who's busy telling Edward Norton that she's dying.

"She is so hot," Blaise says. "Why don't any women like that exist in the world?"

"Do you really think your mother and father would be happy to meet a chainsmoking, sex-crazed, poverty-stricken girlfriend?" the Sex God asks jokingly, seating himself on the far end of the couch.

Is there any discreet way I can scoot closer without either one of them noticing?

And is there any discreet way I can bring the conversation around to how sexily dysfunctional I am?

"Anyway," the Sex God says, tearing his eyes off the screen as Brad Pitt comes wandering down the hallway. (Let me just say, pretty much any woman's ideal man is Brad Pitt's character in _Fight Club_. Gentlemen, take notes. He's hot, confident, arrogant, slightly rude, smart, and built without being all Arnold Schwarzenegger scary.) "Granger, if you wouldn't mind, quit staring at the TV and look at me."

No problemo. You're easy on the eyes.

"So, everyone will meet in our common room at 8. I'll be heading to my house around 7 to make sure everything is perfect. You and Blaise will floo everyone over to the house-Blaise knows the address. The party starts at 9, and goes all night or until you pass out. I've gotten permission from Dumbledore for everyone to sleep over. I don't want a bunch of wasted morons trying to floo themselves back to Hogwarts and ending up in Siberia just because they accidentally said 'Hogshwartsh.' Clear?"

"Well, sounds like you just thought of everything," I say coolly.

He looks at me rather surprised and says, "Oh, still mad about the asking-you-to-the-party thing? Get over it, Granger. And yes, I have thought of everything."

The look he gives me as he gets up belies his tough words, however. It's not exactly soft, but there is some fleeting tenderness before he covers it up with the usual bored look that I'm so used to seeing.

What does the look mean? It's a good thing Ginny is coming over to get ready with me tonight. I'll have to ask her then.

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"Hermione, you could spend all evening dissecting one little look," Ginny scoffs as she carefully puts on eyeliner to make herself look wan and junkie-tired.

"Yeah, I know," I sigh, covering my face in my hands. "You know, having a crush on the Sex God is exhausting. I'm going to officially stop liking him. Starting right now."

"Well that's convenient, considering there are going to be lots of hot boys tonight at the party," Ginny says. "That and a few drinks will help you forget about him in no time."

"No, I am not drinking at the party," I inform her. "Especially not after last time. I don't want to end up on my ass on the ground again telling the Sex God how cute he is."

Ginny gives me a look.

"Okay, maybe one drink," I concede. "Hurry up. I want to see my costume."

Although we have a little over an hour until I have to go downstairs and floo everyone to the Sex God Mansion and I'm already showered, I want to see this costume Ginny made me so I'll have time to change it when it's totally inappropriate.

"I'm almost done," she whines. "And about your costume. I'll get it in a minute, but before I do, I want you to just try it on, okay? Don't judge too quickly."

I don't know about you, but when people say things like that to me, I'm automatically put on my guard. If you need to make a disclaimer before you hand over a piece of clothing, it's probably awful.

Ginny caps the eyeliner, looks in the mirror one more time, and then bounces over to the bed. She's already dressed in a nurse's costume that looks like it came straight from a porn warehouse. Thankfully she left out the pleather platform heels or all the boys would be throwing dollar bills at her for the entire night.

She unzips the black dress bag that's been sitting on my bed ominously all evening.

At this point I'm not sure if I should cover my eyes like a 5 year old.

However, I'm pleasantly surprised by the costume and also immensely relieved.

Ginny's made me a tailored lab coat. Although it's bit short for my taste, its hourglass shape has a slimming effect. And she's also chosen some very classy black high heels to complete the look.

"Do you like it?" Ginny asks as I come out of the bathroom.

"Yeah, it's not nearly as horrifying as I was expecting it to be," I tease, and she grins that wide crazy Weasley grin.

"Okay, good. I was a little worried you'd complain about the length. But I tried it on and bent over and everything and nobody will be getting a Paris Hilton crotch flash. I was also going to put something like 'Dr. Granger' on it, but I didn't want you to feel like your parents."

Aw, she is such a good friend.

I decide not to put anything on it. I think "Dr. Wants The Sex God's Probe" is a little obvious.

I finish getting ready just in time, and somehow manage to clomp down the stairs in the heels.

If my ankle wipes out in one of these things, I'm going to seriously hurt myself.

The common room is already crowded with partygoers, all talking excitedly amongst themselves. As I push my way towards the fireplace, I manage to get a look at some of the costumes.

I must say, some of them are very creative. Including Seamus Finnigans's syringe-necklace-wearing doctor.

Blaise's eyes nearly bug out of his head as Ginny and I approach the fireplace. He waves to Ginny (a bit too excitedly, if you ask me) and motions for us to come stand by him.

"Hello, ladies," he says suavely, bowing elegantly.

How anyone can be so charming and posh while dressed in nothing but a pair of blue scrub pants is beyond me. I would pay money to see those manners classes little Slytherin children are given from birth.

While Blaise and Ginny talk about Quidditch, I discreetly check out the former appreciatively. I must admit-he has a nice body if you like boys who are a bit on the thin side. Blaise is at that dangerous point where if he loses any more weight he'll look like a pre-pregnancy Nicole Richie.

"Aren't we supposed to start flooing everyone over?" I interrupt just as the flirting between Blaise and Ginny begins to escalate. "And I'm the third wheel guys, let's keep the sexual tension to a minimum and try not to make it any more painful for me than it already is."

"Sorry Herms," Ginny blushes. As Blaise turns towards what looks like a powder keg of floo powder, she mouths, "Cute, right?"

I nod briefly and then turn towards the crowd.

"Okay, um…quiet down everyone…"

I might as well be chopped liver. Only the students closest to me pay me any mind at all, and only Neville and a few other students who feel more comfortable in the presence of an authority figure remain silent.

I try a few more times to shut everybody up, but finally I lose my patience and use a _Sonorus_ charm to get everyone's attention.

"OI!" I bellow, aided by my wand. I shout it a bit more loudly than I intended, but I can't help it. All of my stress about everything-Ron, the Harry/Ginny/Blaise love triangle, this stupid fucking party-spills over into that little two-letter sound.

The room quiets down immediately.

"That's better," I say, forcing myself to calm down. "Now. If you would all gather into a well-formed line, Zabini and I will being transporting you to the party."

Everyone immediately begins jostling each other to be first in line. For a few moments I'm worried that I've caused a stampede and this party is going to turn into a real trip to the emergency room. But after a few cries of, "I was here first!" and "Ow, you stepped on my foot!" and "Do you think they'll have Swooping Eggnoggles?" (Luna) everyone forms themselves into a few lines and stands waiting.

Blaise and I efficiently clear out most of the room within the next 45 minutes. Finally, the only people left are me, Blaise, Ginny, Millicent Bulstrode, and…Pansy Parkinson.

Pansy is dressed in a bikini of sorts made out of scrubs. She looks absolutely fantastic with teased hair and a little nurse's cap placed perfectly in the middle of her head.

I suddenly feel like I'm knockoff Hugo Boss standing in front of Christian Dior.

Millicent goes first through the fireplace, giving me a rather ugly look as she passes by.

Pansy, however, is a different story.

She advances menacingly towards the fireplace, giving me a look that would send me through the castle and to Ireland if looks could kill/blast people off their feet.

"I heard all about your little trip to Club Azkaban with _my_ ex-boyfriend, Granger," she snarls. "You are such a little slut. You wait until we break up and then you get him drunk and try to hook up with him? How very un-Gryffindor of you."

Wait…WHAT?

Blaise looks like he's about to interfere. I had better say something before I lose my dignity.

"I didn't try to hook up with him, Parkinson," I snap. "You've got your details wrong. Now, are you going to the party or not? Because I know I certainly wouldn't mind if you decided to stay home."

"You better watch your back, Granger," Pansy says as she steps into the fireplace. She shouts the address and whirls away in the green flames.

"I hate her," I mutter, staring after her into the now-empty fireplace. "Ugh."

"Are you okay?" Ginny asks.

"Yeah," I nod. "Let's just go."

"Don't let her ruin your night, Granger," Blaise says in a startlingly comforting gesture. "Pansy's always thought everyone was trying to hook up with Draco behind her back. You're not the first girl to get that little speech and you won't be the last."

Ginny takes my hand supportively and the three of us step into the fireplace.

As Blaise shouts the address, I can only think two thoughts:

1. I will survive this night.

2. I will not like the Sex God.

The flames rise around us and in a flash of green, we're off to the party.

**0000000000**

**I know, not the party chapter. The next one is. I updated mostly to:**

**1. Appease all of you.**

**And **

**2. The party chapter will have a lot of stuff happen, and I think it's going to run rather long. I'm fine-tuning some of the details at the moment.**

**I also start school on Tuesday. Damn summer term.**

**Okay, hope you liked it, not much happened, but it kind of needed to be written. It's a get-it-over-with chapter.**

**Enjoy, and stay tuned for the Emergency Room party.**

**-Carrie**


	25. Vomit, Balconies, and ShotForShot

-1**Thank you for all of your reviews! Without further ado, here is the next chapter you've all been waiting for.**

**MUSIC YOU WILL NEED FOR THIS CHAPTER: "Chelsea Dagger"-The Fratellis**

**WARNING: This chapter contains mature subject matter.**

**QUESTION: Does anyone actually listening to the music I provide for the chapters? If even one person does, I'll keep going with it. If not, and it's really annoying, I'll get rid of it. Votes please.**

**DISCLAIMER: I spelled "I own Harry Potter" in my bowl of Cheerios. I'm formally submitting it to J.K. Rowling. And her lawyers. I hope my cereal doesn't get soggy on the way there.**

**0000000000**

We land in a large stone fireplace in a beautifully decorated sitting room.

I step out slowly, surveying the room. Man, this must've cost a fortune to decorate.

Mrs. Malfoy has modern taste, which I wasn't expecting from a family who prides themselves on tradition and an old bloodline. Whenever I pictured the Malfoy home, I imagined it with mostly empty dusty rooms and closets filled with ego. The sitting room, however, has a few low beige armchairs and a glass coffee table in front of the fireplace. There are a few landscapes on the walls and the top of the fireplace is lined with antique sugar bowls. Cream-colored curtains adorn the large windows that look out over a dark lawn. A few art magazines are stacked neatly on the coffee table, and a glass ashtray in the shape of a flower has been placed neatly in the middle.

"I didn't know Malfoy's parents smoke," I muse aloud.

"They don't," Blaise says, making his ways towards the door on the opposite side of the room. "But some of their distinguished guests do, and I think sometimes Mr. Malfoy has a cigar with his evening brandy."

Evening brandy. What is this, the Gentlemen's Club circa 1911?

Why doesn't Mr. Malfoy just construct a billiards room and put a sign on the door saying "No Girls Allowed"?

Ginny and I follow Blaise out of the sitting room and across a gigantic foyer decorated with marble busts and antique vases.

"There are no Malfoy family portraits?" I query as we walk along the Middle-Eastern inspired tile floor.

"There's a room for that somewhere," Blaise answers. "They have like this big room that's just wall-to-wall paintings of dead Malfoys. I think Mrs. Malfoy made her husband put all the portraits in one room because they never shut up. But that's just my own personal opinion. And count yourself lucky, Granger. There's nothing like a party with a portrait of some dead person screaming, "BLOOD TRAITOR!" all night."

Point taken.

We ascend a gigantic marble staircase to the second floor, where the fact that a party is about to explode in the house suddenly becomes more apparent. I can hear thumping music and the buzzing sound of a crowd of people talking coming from behind a set of gilded double doors.

"Ladies," Blaise says, politely offering his arm to each of us.

Here we go.

We push open the doors and enter a room that looks like it came straight out of a movie about a rave. The entire ballroom (I'm guessing that's its normal function) is darkened and lit by various-colored neon lights. A DJ booth is on a dais lit by some strange gold lighting over at the far corner, with a beautiful mahogany bar on the other end of the huge room. Everywhere, there are emergency room characters wandering around. There are balcony doors directly across from the entrance, and these have been opened to keep guests from getting too overheated. As we walk through the crowd, I must admit that the crisp October air is rather refreshing. I also notice that several areas have been cordoned off by hospital-style curtains to create private rooms. I peer inside one and watch as a girl I don't recognized lays down on the bed inside and allows her friends to insert an IV drip filled with alcohol into her arm.

This is the worst party idea ever.

"Let's find Draco," Blaise says loudly. Ginny nods and waves to Luna Lovegood, who passes us on the arm of Theodore Nott.

The three of us continue on towards the bar. The entire way there, Ginny and Blaise are giving each other flirty smiles and looks.

I have a distinct feeling that my night of third-wheeling is going to come to an end. Quickly.

It's either walk away or sit there and try to ignore the sexual tension.

For now, I'm going to go with the latter.

"There he is," Blaise says after a few moments of scanning the bar area. I look in the direction he's pointing, and all of my not-wanting-to-do-the-Sex God goes right out the open balcony doors.

The Sex God is wearing the same pair of scrubs pants that are adorning Blaise's model-perfect body. He's shirtless as well (there is a God), but has a nice, well-defined six-pack where Blaise's thinness is located.

He is so perfect.

Stop drooling on your lab coat.

I do not like the Sex God. I do not like his perfect Tyler Durden body. He is not an Adonis. I do not want to do him on the bar.

Ginny must've noticed me looking all hot and bothered, because she leaves Blaise for a few moments and walks over to me.

"You okay?" she asks, looking concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine. And so is the Sex God," I reply.

"You look hot, Herms. Just go over there. You don't like him anymore, remember?"

"It's kind of hard not to like him while his abs are staring me in the face."

She nods, understanding.

"Well, there are lots of cute boys here. Let's just go over there and see where the night takes us, alright? Don't worry, I'm not going to ditch you for Blaise."

Again: such a good friend.

We walk over to him and wait for him to finish bossing the bartender around.

"Hey, what's up?" he says.

My libido.

"We just got here," Blaise says. "How's it going so far?"

"Pretty well," the Sex God says. He looks at Ginny and me for a moment and then says, "Got your hands full with the ladies as usual, I see."

Ginny's eyes widen ever so slightly at that comment, and I just know that I am going to be dragged into the bathroom sometime in the near future to talk about Blaise being a manwhore.

"…anyway," Blaise is saying. "Would you ladies like a drink?"

Ginny nods enthusiastically, and, after a moment, I nod as well. One drink should be alright. I'll sip slowly.

"We're just going to go to the bathroom while you order those. We'll be right back," Ginny announces to McDrac-OH and McBlazin'.

Yep, just as I thought.

They nod casually and, after getting directions from the Sex God, the two of us wander off in search of a quiet place to examine Blaise's sex life.

"So I guess entering a party with two girls on his arm is not a new thing for him," Ginny mutters as we leave the ballroom and head down the hallway to the bathroom.

"Yeah but at least in this case I'm only an acquaintance, not a love interest," I say, doing my best to comfort her.

The bathroom is the second door on the left, and I feel a sense of rushing relief as the door closes behind us and the music is silenced.

The bathroom is another extremely well-decorated room. In here, everything is white and green, with a stained-glass window over the tub. A few little hand soaps and seashell candles are strategically placed on the sink and on top of the toilet. A pair of green and white towels are folded neatly on the towel rack, in the exact size order that's always shown in those decorating magazines.

"Do you think Mrs. Malfoy hired an interior designer to do her house, or do you think she decorated it herself?" I ask, examining one of the candles.

My mother and father, in a fit of being rather well-off dentists, went out and hired some elderly decorator to fix up our house. (They were taken in by her advertisement of having "experience" in interior decorating. She failed to clarify that experience dated back to 1953.) The woman actually decorated my room with lots of floral patterns and doilies and pink. It was only when my uncle came over and laughed at the cat-themed couch cushions that my parents ran out to the local hardware store and re-decorated everything themselves. Up until then, my house looked like a nursing home had thrown up in it.

"Who cares? Blaise is a tramp!" Ginny exclaims in despair. "He's probably slept with like 2000 women. And I'm silly number 2001."

"Come on, Ginny, he's not Ted Nugent," I say, rubbing her back gently. The joke, however, is lost on her (sigh, wizards) and she gives me a wounded look.

"What am I even doing?" she moans, burying her face in her hands. "At least I know Harry hasn't gone about whoring himself out to every good looking woman he meets. He's too busy being wrapped up in his hero complex to bother. I'm such a fool. Of course Blaise is smooth and charming, this is like brushing his teeth! It's something he does every day! He's used to it!"

"You're becoming hysterical," I inform her. "Look, so maybe Blaise is a slut. You're not married to the guy, and you're not dating him. You're just hanging out. And between you and me, I think we can spot all of his red flags and save you from any potentially embarrassing and venereal disease filled situations. But I gotta tell you, Gin, he hasn't looked at one other girl all night. And we passed several who might as well not be wearing any tops."

She giggles at this, and wipes away the tears running down her face.

"You're right. You're right. Okay." She sighs and re-adjusts her costume. "Come on. I really need that drink."

I nod and the two of us head out of the bathroom. On the way back to the ballroom, we pass Pansy and Marisa Golden, a Slytherin fifth year. I tense, waiting for some sort of confrontation, but the two girls do nothing but give me nasty looks and bitch to each other in hushed tones.

I hate girls.

"Ugh, Pansy," Ginny mutters. "I wonder what sorry soul ended up coming to the party with that fire-breathing dragon. She'll do nothing but use her date to try and get back at the Sex God for dumping her tiny, magically altered ass."

"You don't think Pansy will try anything on me, do you?" I ask, suddenly unable to repress all of my worries about the events of the past few weeks.

"Nah, I don't think there's enough vodka in the world for her to be _that_ stupid. Besides, then the Sex God would throw her out for ruining the party and attacking a fellow student, and she'd be totally humiliated. And we all know that being embarrassed is Pansy Parkinson's greatest fear."

"I thought that was the outlawing of plastic surgery," I respond jokingly. Ginny's response has put me at ease.

She's right, of course. Even though I'm not anywhere near smart enough (or dumb enough, depending on how you look at it) to stoop to the kind of subterranean level of backstabbing and destroying that Pansy is, I still have a basic grip on the tenets of logic when it comes to revenge.

And this is definitely a time when I am thankful that most of my friends are guys. Seriously, all that time spent talking about each other behind their backs and verbally abusing one another must make girls exhausted. No wonder Parvati and Lavender do so badly in school-they're too tired from just being girls to do anything else valuable, like homework.

We head back in to the party and fight our way past several tipsy-looking broom accident patients to get back to the bar. To my complete and utter shock, the Sex God and Blaise are still actually there, waiting for us. I would've assumed by now that the Sex God at least would've seen some slut dressed in only a scrub cap and gone off chasing her. He did, after all, want to be "free" to hook up with other girls. Ass.

Blaise hands Ginny a martini and moves my glass of champagne towards me as the two of us lean up against the bar next to him. Yes, I have elected to sip the drink of snobby dentists who attend my parents' parties tonight. It's the only thing I'm actually used to drinking, and I have an unfortunate feeling I'm going to need my sense of responsibility later when this party gets out of hand.

And yes, that's a "when." There is no "if" in deciding whether or not the emergency room will soon turn into some sort of rave.

The three of us spend the next few minutes having a very pleasant conversation (Blaise is funny and gregarious when he wants to be, apparently) while I try not to drool over the Sex God, who's chatting with Theodore Nott (sans Luna). Or more specifically, the Sex God's abs. Those perfect, washboard abs.

"HERMIONE!" Ginny's shouting, all the while elbowing me in the ribs. "HEY! Wanna come dance with me and Blaise?"

Oh yeah right. And be caught in the middle of a grinding sandwich? I don't think so.

"Nah, I'll dance with you guys later," I say. "Have fun. Don't forget about me."

"We won't," Ginny says smiling, and the two of them bounce off towards the other end of the room.

I stand by myself for the few minutes it takes to realize that this is a huge mistake. In those aforementioned minutes, no less than 4 boys come up and ask me if I want to dance. One even has the gigantic balls to ask if I'd like to take a ride on his broomstick later.

Since when did standing alone, enjoying some peace and me-time translate to "I'm obviously waiting to be asked to dance"?

"You look annoyed, Granger," says a suave and sexy voice from right next to me.

I glance over at him for a moment and smile. "Women standing alone at a bar has clearly replaced women with cats as the new sad, desperate thing," I inform him.

He catches on to my little insinuation without missing a beat.

I don't like him.

The fact that he's smart and clever seems to be punching holes into my I-don't-like-the-Sex-God mentality.

Damn it.

"I didn't realize you were so popular," he says lightly.

"I could say the same to you," I respond in the same friendly manner. "Look how many people who are supposedly scared of you showed up to your party."

He actually laughs out loud at this, and I dare to hope for one small minute that he's attracted to the fact that I'm a smart and clever girl.

Quick, Hermione. Think of something else witty to say. Keep this conversation going.

I hate it when you're talking to a cute guy and you just made him laugh or vice versa and then you stop grinning like an idiot and realize that you have absolutely no idea where to go with the conversation and you have to rack your brain to think of something and it usually turns out to be stupid.

"Think I'm funny, do you?" I ask.

LAAAAAAAME.

You're the smartest witch at Hogwarts. That's the best you could come up with?

"I think you look really good in that costume," he responds.

Okay, I guess that _was_ the best I could've come up with.

This is where it gets tricky. Don't act like a silly little fan girl. Say thank you, smile sexily.

"Are you drunk?" I ask stupidly.

Way to follow your own rules.

"No," the Sex God replies. "Are you?"

"No," I answer. "After last time, I thought it might be a good idea to lay off the sauce for a while."

And again that infectious, perfect smile.

"Blaise and your little redheaded friend are waving at us, want to go over and dance with them a bit?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah, sure," I say, trying my best to sound nonchalant and not like Christmas has come two months early.

He finishes his beer and the two of us being to push our way through the crowd to reach Blaise and Ginny, who look like they're having the time of their lives.

"Hey, you guys!" Ginny says enthusiastically, stumbling around while holding onto Blaise's hand like a leash.

"Is she drunk?" I ask. Crap. I let her out of my sight for one minute, and she's smashed.

"A little, I think," Blaise answers, watching Ginny with amusement. "She kept grabbing other people's drinks out of their hands and chugging them."

Perfect. We're about an hour into this party and she's drank all the alcohol in the world.

"Hermiiioooneee, I loooooove you," Ginny informs me, wrapping her arms around my neck and giving me a hug that could qualify as a dangerous weapon resulting in strangulation.

"Did I look this stupid when I was drunk?" I ask Blaise and the Sex God, awkwardly patting Ginny on the back.

Blaise laughs and pulls Ginny off me (she promptly turns and hugs him) and then says, "Let's dance, Ginny."

"Okay!" she says happily, and immediately begins waving her body around.

Blaise just shakes his head and tries to get her back under some modicum of control.

The Sex God and I begin dancing with them after a few moments (I was really nervous about the two of us dancing alone. I have the rhythm of a mop) and the three of us try and fail to keep up with Ginny.

We finish out the rest of the song, barely managing to keep Ginny from knocking over several other partygoers and getting stabbed in the neck by Seamus's syringe necklace. I've just convinced her to go and sit at the bar for a bit before she has a heart attack when she screams, "I LOVE THIS SONG!" and bounds off away from us to go dance some more.

"Damn it!" Blaise curses. "We can't just leave her to dance by herself. She'll look sillier than she does and she might hurt someone. Let's see if we can get her to agree to sit down after this song."

I look over at the Sex God, who shrugs and nods as he waves to someone who's just said hello to him.

We fight our way back over to Ginny, who's already started singing at the top of her lungs along with the music and several other drunken idiots who clearly know the words and aren't afraid of jumping around like pogo sticks in public.

_Well you must be a girl with shoes like that_

_She said you know me well_

_I seen you and little Steven and Joanna_

_Round the back of my hotel, oh yeah_

"Woo!" Ginny shouts, jumping along in time with the song and laughing with a Ravenclaw whose name escapes me at the moment.

_Someone said you was asking after me_

_But I know you best as a blagger_

Blaise turns and gives us a look that clearly states he thinks Ginny is a complete embarrassment.

_I said tell me your name, is it sweet?_

_She said my boy it's dagger, oh yeah_

I move awkwardly, swaying my body a bit and surreptitiously glancing at the Sex God every few moments to make sure he hasn't gone off and snatched a new dance partner. To my pleasant surprise, he's right there next to me, bouncing a bit and even smiling at some of Ginny's antics.

_I was good, she was hot_

_Stealing everything she got_

_I was bold she was over the worst of it_

_Gave me gear thank you dear bring your sister over here_

"Come on, Hermione, dance with me!" Ginny shouts, grabbing my hands and nearly dislocating my shoulders as she jumps around like a psycho.

_Let her dance with me just for the hell of it_

_Well you must be a boy with bones like that_

_She said you got me wrong_

_I would've sold them to you_

_If I could've just have kept the last of my clothes on_

Merlin, I've been bouncing for two seconds and I'm already exhausted. Either Ginny is in really good shape or she took a shot of speed while I wasn't looking. That's the only explanation for her continuous pogo-like dancing.

_Call me up take me down with you when you go_

_I could be your regular belle_

_And I'll dance for little Steven and Joanna_

_Round the back of my hotel, oh yeah_

_I was good, she was hot_

_Stealing everything she got_

_I was bold she was over the worst of it_

_Gave me gear thank you dear bring your sister over here_

_Let her dance with me just for the hell of it_

"Uh-oh, I think they're bringing us home!" Blaise shouts over the loud volume of the music. He motions at Ginny, whose bouncing has become even wilder.

_Chelsea Chelsea I believe that when you're dancing _

_Slowly sucking your sleeve_

_The boys get lonely after you leave_

_It's one for the Dagger and another for the one you believe_

_Chelsea I believe that when you're dancing slowly sucking your sleeve_

_The boys get lonely after you leave_

_It's one for the Dagger-another for the one you believe_

"Do do do! Do do do!" Ginny shouts, pushing another partygoer down as she grabs his shoulder for more bouncing leverage.

"You better stop her before she kills herself or someone else," the Sex God remarks casually. Blaise and I both nod and rush forward as the Two-Person Damage Control Team.

We've just gotten Ginny safely to the bar and persuaded her to have a glass of water when I see another shock of red hair coming towards us at alarming speed.

Shit. Ron has spotted Ginny getting cozy with Blaise.

Great.

"Get OFF of her!" he shouts, yanking Blaise away from his sister.

Now normally, Ginny would be all fire and brimstone, up in Ron's face, ready to tell him off and even blackmail him if necessary. (I believe she has some amazing old pictures of Ron dressed up like a train conductor, playing with his magical trains. And by "old" I mean from this past summer.) But at the moment, she's too drunk to do anything about her overprotective trigger-happy brother, and is busy giggling and trying to pull Blaise closer to her again.

"What the FUCK have you done to her?" Ron asks, staring at Ginny.

"Besides attempt to make sure she doesn't humiliate or hurt herself? Nothing," Blaise replies calmly. He smiles down at Ginny a bit and picks her head up off the bar, waving the water under her nose until she takes it and sucks it down like a dying man in a desert.

"And Hermione? You're in on this too?"

Ah, yes. Ronald Weasley and his infamous temper have finally rounded on me.

"There's nothing to be in on, Ronald," I respond.

"She's been…she's been _cursed_ or something. I mean, look at the way she's behaving! Grabbing at that Slytherin…Ginny in her right mind would never do this! She's been crushing on Harry for ages-she would never betray him like this! You're supposed to be the smartest witch in our year-you'd think you would've noticed something. You, of all people!"

His voice is getting steadily louder and I fully predict a Ronald Weasley temper explosion, with a high chance of Something Bad Happening.

"Don't go off on Granger, Weasley," the Sex God snaps, stepping in, to my complete shock. "And remember you're in _my _house. Watch your mouth, and keep your temper in check."

"I should've known you'd be lurking around here somewhere, Malfoy," Ron snarls, venom dripping from his tone. "Never too far from evil, are you?"

The Sex God bristles (which pretty much just makes his abs look even _better_, WOW), and Blaise cuts in.

"Don't say a spell you can't cast, Weasley. Your quarrel is with me. If you're really serious about that whole cursing-your-sister conspiracy theory, then you will accept my challenge to go shot for shot. Ginny's told me about your high tolerance. If you win, then I'll tell you what spell we've put her under, and I'll make sure to stay as far away from her as possible. If I win, then you have to accept the fact that I didn't do anything to her and she's old enough to take care of herself. Deal?"

This is the dumbest challenge I have ever heard of in my life. How are they going to solve anything by drinking? If anything, that'll just make their tempers even more explosive.

I open my mouth to point out this crucial fact, but the Sex God sees me and puts a finger to his lips, shaking his head.

Oh, yes, I forgot about the old standby: pure Slytherin cunning.

Am I really about to let this happen? Ron's going to be destroyed. But on the other hand, Ginny will be taken care of, she'll sober up, and she'll be able to continue living her own life without constant interference from her brother.

I step back, my inner conflict silencing my words.

Blaise and Ron request a folding table, two chairs, two shot glasses, and a bottle of vodka. The bartender hands them the latter two while I transfigure the chairs and table out of two pens and a dishwashing brush.

As they seat themselves and get ready, people naturally begin to gather around in a big circle. I hear whispers of "What are they doing?" and a "They're about to go shot for shot, are you all blind?" from Theodore Nott, who's standing with his arm around Luna near the Sex God and I. (He hasn't run screaming for the hills yet. This is a good sign. And it'll also give me something to look at as this little contest becomes even more stupid.) "Maybe they're trying to ward off the Tea-Sucking Autoblats," Luna says quietly. I glance over, waiting to see some kind of look of disdain from Nott, but he merely pulls Luna closer to him and doesn't say anything.

Aw. The whole world's in love.

Finally, Blaise and Ron are ready, and Blaise pours the first two shots. He hands one to Ron, throwing his own down the hatch with ease. Ron does the same, wincing only slightly at the taste.

Blaise sees this small look of disgust and says snidely, "Still want to continue, Weasley? Or would you rather lose face in front of the whole school?"

Damn, those Slytherins sure do know how to get people so riled up that they continue with ridiculous dares and challenges.

"I wouldn't quit if you gave me all of the money in your Gringotts account, Zabini," he replies, and my inner Gryffindor applauds a little at this show of strength.

Five shots later, Ron has begun to look a bit worse for wear. He's weaving slightly and is having some difficulty controlling the bottle as he pours the next shots.

"I'm personally amazed Weasley has been able to go this far without vomiting," the Sex God says to me quietly. "If he can't see that Blaise isn't even affected by the six shots he just took, then he's stupider than I gave him credit for."

"Shush," I whisper. "Don't distract him. He's having a hard enough time without you and your snide comments."

The Sex God raises his eyebrows and shrugs, but he shuts up.

Two more shots. Blaise has begun to look a bit tipsy, while Ron looks full-on drunk.

I can't let this go on. He's going to get alcohol poisoning or something. I start towards them, ready to stop this stupid, stupid, challenge. I can't even believe I let it go on for this long.

Something, however, is holding me back.

I look up to see Pansy Parkinson giving me the darkest of dark looks from across the room. The Sex God's hand is holding me back.

"Leave them," the Sex God whispers. "Let them get it out of their system, Granger. You can't stop them now. Besides, I would hazard a guess that Weasley is just about finished."

And three shots later, he's right.

With a slight moan, Ron falls out of his chair and onto the floor.

"Had enough, Weasley?" Blaise asks cruelly, leaning over the table to look at him.

Ron only groans and mumbles something that sounds suspiciously like, "Ithink…mmm…gonna…puke…"

"He has to wait until he gets to the bathroom to puke," the Sex God says quickly.

I nod and rush over to Ron. "Come on Ron, get up. We're going to take you to the bathroom, alright? You can throw up there."

He shakes his head a little. "Don't…wanna…move…"

"Well you can't throw up on Malfoy's ballroom floor," I say. "Is anyone going to help me or are you all just going to stand there?"

Dean Thomas puts his drink down and helps me lift Ron off the floor.

"Thanks for all your help," I snap at the Sex God as Dean and I begin to drag a whining Ron out of the room.

"Clear the way!" Dean shouts, using his free arm to move some of the slower guests out of our path. "Clear the way unless you want Weasley to throw up on you!"

That comment is the equivalent of Moses parting the Red Sea. People can't scramble fast enough to get out of our way.

We drag Ron to the nearest bathroom, automatically cutting to the front of the line and kicking Hannah Abbot and Susan Bones out of the bathroom. Once we're in there, we encounter the surprisingly difficult task of trying to get Ron to lean over the toilet.

It's like trying to position a piece of cooked spaghetti. God.

I am really glad I did not get drunk tonight.

"Gotta lay down," Ron mumbles, continuously rejecting our efforts.

"Maybe we should let him sit for a minute," Dean suggests. "Let him get it together. When it's time for him to throw up, we'll help him pick himself up so he can get it in the toilet."

I nod in agreement, and we set Ron down and allow him to slump into the tiny space between the wall and the toilet itself.

If this weren't such an unpleasant experience, it would be funny.

After a few moments of standing around (Dean and me) and labored breathing (Ron), I'm just about to relax and give the all-clear when I hear some horrible coughing noises.

"He's gonna lose it!" Dean shouts, and I whirl around, ready to help.

Unfortunately, Ron being who he is, he can't get himself over the toilet.

Instead, he's stuck between the wall and the toilet and he's about to puke…yep. All over himself.

Lovely.

"Urgh, I'm not touching that," Dean says in disgust, backing away.

The retching noises continue for about half an hour, and finally, Ron has emptied his stomach contents all over his dead patient costume.

"Now what do we do with him?" Dean asks with trepidation.

"I don't know," I respond snappishly. "I guess we should clean him up and then get him to a couch or a bed, whichever is nearest."

Dean nods and after a few "Scourgify!"s, Ron is mostly clean. We pull him gently up and out from the tiny space, and once again sling both of his arms over our shoulders, ready to lug him to bed.

"I wish Malfoy would've come with us," I complain after a few trial-and-error door openings (closet, closet, dining room, billiards room). "Then we wouldn't have so much damn trouble trying to find a place for Ron to lie down."

"Seriously," Dean says. "Wait! Here's a bedroom!"

"Thank God!" I moan and we walk into a small, plain-looking bedroom. Aside from the bed and a nightstand, there's very little furniture. No artwork adorns this room-there is nothing to indicate who usually occupies it.

We set Ron down on the bed, turning him carefully on his side, and set off back to the party after I've performed a charm that will let me know if he gets sick again.

Back in the ballroom, Dean heads off to join Seamus and some drunk Gryffindor fifth-years, while I head off in search of the Sex God, Blaise, and Ginny.

The Sex God is nowhere in sight, but Blaise and Ginny are sitting at the bar. Ginny looks much better-she actually waves normally at me as I approach them.

"I was just telling Ginny what happened while she was completely intoxicated," Blaise says by way of greeting, smiling at Ginny.

"Is Ron alright?" Ginny asks me.

"He'll be fine," I reply. "He puked all over himself, so we cleaned him off and put him in someone's bedroom to sleep."

"If you put him in Draco's bedroom, Draco is going to kill you," Blaise says, laughing a bit.

"I don't think it was Malfoy's room," I say, shaking my head. "It was plain and there was no artwork. I expect his room is a bit more lavish than the one Ron is currently snoring in."

Ginny makes big eyes at me, mouthing, "Maybe you should ask him to see it later," but I ignore her and instead turn to Blaise, who informs me that the room Ron is occupying is a maid's room that the family no longer uses.

I hang around a bit longer, forcing myself to avoid asking where the Sex God has gone. However, I feel rather awkward imposing on Blaise and Ginny's previously private conversation, so I excuse myself and head off to the bathroom.

As I get closer to my intended destination, I see a large group of girls gathered around the doorway, making sympathetic noises.

Damn it.

"What's happened?" I call, pushing my way through the gaggle of girls.

"It's Lavender," Parvati says, giggling in her inebriated state. "She's throwing up."

Next person to throw up gets a foot in the ass.

"Alright. Get those girls to back up, Parvati. No one should be in here if they don't need to be." I step over Lavender's feet and take over holding her hair.

At least she made it into the toilet.

After a few minutes and much less puking than Ron, Lavender appears to be feeling better. She and Parvati agree to sit out in the hallway for a few minutes before heading back into the party.

I wander back into the ballroom, making my way towards the bar. As I get closer, however, I see that Blaise and Ginny have moved from "just talking" to "if they were naked that would be illegal."

Welcome to Life As A Third Wheel. Forever pushed from destination to destination, friend to friend, all because you don't have a date and you're not attached to someone at the lips.

Yeah. Not going over there.

Feeling woozy from the heat and the smell of two people puking in my vicinity in one night, I push my way through the crowd of people chatting by the balcony and exit the ballroom. The cool air feels as refreshing as a Freeze Pop on a summer's day, and I wander over to the railing, enjoying both the breeze and the dark expanse of lawn stretching out before me.

As I look down at the Malfoy courtyard, which is decorated with expensive-looking teak lawn furniture, I can't help but think that this night has gone better than if I'd magically planned everything out myself. Not only has Blaise been a true (if a bit flirty) gentleman to Ginny all night, but things with the Sex God have progressed further than I'd ever hoped for. If you'd told me a month ago-hell, if you'd told me yesterday-that the Sex God would pay attention to me all night and tell me I look good in my costume, I'd have laughed you into next year.

And yet, that happened.

I may yet have a chance.

Feeling buoyed by this new burst of confident optimism, I turn to go back inside. I'm so wrapped up in thoughts of magical balcony kisses and slightly sexual spooning (we _are_ spending the night here, after all) that not even the sight of two people glued together in a dark corner by the door playing tonsil hockey can discourage me.

I even find the maturity to glance over and give them a little smile.

And yes, I say maturity. I have not had the (pleasurable?) experience of a mid-party makeout, or anything else beyond a terrible kiss for that matter, and I sometimes find it difficult to bear good will towards those who have (75 of the rest of the population at least).

I start back inside, ready to go find Ginny and Blaise and the Sex God and continue to have a good time, but there's something about the Siamese twins in the corner.

Did I see blond hair?

I glance over again, partially to confirm my suspicion and also to make sure that the two of them aren't staring at me staring at them.

And…yes.

There it is.

The unmistakable white-blond hair and perfect body of one Draco Malfoy, pressed up against some unidentifiable girl.

Good feeling's gone.

My blood runs cold, and I'm torn between hexing the crap out of him and running all the way back to Hogwarts.

A lump rises in my throat and I suddenly realize with some disconcertment that if I stand here much longer, I'm going to cry.

My vision goes blurry as hot tears threaten to pour down my face, and a hazy vision of sexy Draco leaning against the bar comes to my mind, telling me, "I think you look good in that costume."

What the hell? What did I do wrong? I thought I was doing so well all night and suddenly he's hooking up with someone else?

Don't look. If you look again your broken heart will shatter all over the balcony floor.

I walk inside in a daze, not really aware of any of the people around me. I spot Ginny and Blaise laughing by the bar. If I didn't really need Ginny right now, the thought of going over there would make me sick.

I'm about to go join them when I am suddenly irrationally angry.

I'm Hermione Granger, smartest witch at Hogwarts. I don't let selfish 17 year old babies with giant trust funds get me down. Who does he think he is, flirting with me and then dropping me like a hot Pop Tart?

I do a complete irrational 180 and storm back outside. This is ridiculous. HE'S ridiculous.

You know, in a way I'm almost glad he did this. Something had to galvanize me to action. Normally I would've just backed out of there faster and quieter than Eliot Spitzer backing out of office.

"DRACO MALFOY!" I shout, shoving several Hufflepuffs dressed as Healers out of the way. I grab his perfectly muscled arm and yank him off his hockey partner, pulling him around to look at me.

"Granger, what the fuck is your problem?" he asks in an irritated tone.

"Who's she?" the girl snaps, looking very annoyed at having been deprived of a nice makeout session with the Sex God.

"You'll have to excuse us," I say icily.

She "humphs" at me and storms off, putting her clothes back to rights as she goes.

"DRACO MALFOY…" I begin again, but then I notice uncomfortably that more than one guest has turned from their drink to watch us. I quickly slam the balcony doors shut and cast a silencing spell on them. After a few moments of useless eavesdropping, most people start to go back to what they were previously doing.

Malfoy is watching me uncertainly, waiting for my next move.

"I can't believe you would be this irresponsible! You have a party going on in there with no less than 300 guests and instead of watching them carefully, you're out here pressed up against some skank! You gave them all alcohol and set them loose in a room with each other! You have an extremely expensive house that you really ought to be keeping a closer eye on, and _you're_ the one responsible for making sure they all get back to Hogwarts in one piece tomorrow! And are you doing all of that? Nope-you're out here with Skankarella while I get stuck with all the work as usual! Does it ever occur to you that other people suffer from your irresponsibility, Malfoy? I highly doubt that it does. While you're off drinking your own bar and flirting with anything with breasts I'm stuck holding Lavender's head while she empties her alcohol-filled stomach into your pristine toilet, and I'm hosing the puke off of Ron and making sure that he actually gets upstairs to a bed instead of being left lying in a hallway somewhere! Where the fuck do you get off treating people this way, Malfoy?"

I've officially run out of breath, so I'll stop here for a minute and give him some time to recover. He looks like he needs it.

"It's my party and it's my house, Granger," he snaps. "I can do whatever I want. And all of those people will be fine, just a bit hungover tomorrow. Merlin, it's not like I gave them those blasting-sticks that Muggles use, gums or whatever they're called. And why this fixation on that girl? You mentioned her twice in a span of thirty seconds. Why so concerned with who I'm hooking up with?"

That's all he has to say? "I can do whatever I want"? Never in my life have I met anyone so thoughtless! I can't believe I wasted even one second liking him. My rage boils over into the emotional equivalent of lava. I roll up my figurative sleeves and prepare to give him the worst verbal beating he's ever gotten in his life. Maybe I'll even revert back to third year and give him a physical beating, too.

"BECAUSE I LIKE YOU!"

Where did that come from?

Did…did I say that?

Crap. That's not what I meant to say.

The Sex God looks almost as surprised as I feel.

"Sorry? Did you just say that _you_ like _me_?"

I look at him miserably, my face giving me away.

"Is that why you were so mad about that girl?" he asks, surprisingly serious.

I nod. Inwardly, I'm kicking my ass to China.

"I don't know what to say," he continues. "I didn't realize she'd make you that upset."

"We've been talking and having a good time all night," I say, some of my anger coming back, giving me the energy to continue in this vein of conversation. "And then suddenly you're outside with someone else. Even if I didn't like you, do you know how that makes a person feel? It negates every positive thing that's happened between us this year, and there have been positive things, even if you haven't noticed them."

"I noticed them," he answers. "I just wasn't sure where you were planning on going with them. But now that I have this new information, I can rectify the situation."

" 'Rectify the situation'? I'm not sure I follow," I say hesitantly, frowning. What the hell does he mean?

"I mean this," he says, and in one step, he grabs my wrists, pulls me in, and kisses me.

**0000000000**

**WHOA.**

**WHOA.**

**Sorry it took me so long to update. I had hand surgery and was unable to type for a while, and then I got a nice big infection from my lovely antibiotics (turns out, what do you know, I'm allergic to them! Joy!) and I was really sick, blah blah blah.**

**Writing will be delayed a bit more, as I am going to London for a week next month. But I will get to work on a new chapter almost immediately after I post this one and you may sleep soundly knowing that this story is under further construction.**

**If it makes you feel any better, I delay sometimes because I want to make these chapters good for you. I have some fantastic plot twists and turns coming up. Squee.**

**Read and review, tell me what you think.**

**-Carrie**


	26. Back to Square One

**Thank yo**u** for your patience and lovely reviews. I apologize for the month and a half long delay in the writing of the new chapter. Please direct your anger towards Dell. And Best Buy. And all of my teachers who love to give me tons of homework (that means you, Psych 101 professor and your project that took me 2 months to finish).**

**Now, however, we are back in business and are ready to keep going.**

**DISCLAIMER: I'm going to project "I Own Harry Potter" onto the moon tomorrow. That'll show J.K. Rowling. She can't stop me. Hear me, J.K. Rowling? YOU CAN'T STOP…okay, that's my door you're breaking down. Aaaand that's my Nintendo 64 you're smashing. You say whoever wins in a Mariokart race can have Harry Potter ownership? You're on.**

**Aaaand here we go.**

**0000000000**

Not gonna lie-I've imagined this moment for what seems like forever.

And if you remember, I've imagined it in the sort of Norah Roberts way where as you're reading it you just know that things like this don't happen that perfectly.

Well, I'm here to stand up and say that no amount of imagining and fantasizing can even begin to compare to the real thing.

His lips are soft, and as my lips part slightly to receive his kiss I send out a silent thank-you to Chapstick. Nobody wants to kiss Scaly Mouth.

His tongue pushes gently into my mouth and flicks mine tentatively. As our lips begin to move against each other, becoming more impassioned with each passing moment, I realize that this is how kissing is supposed to be.

His hands move slowly up to my waist, and before long, one is creeping onto my lower back. As for my part, I cautiously touch his naked skin, feeling the muscles quiver beneath my hands. His body is warm and perfect.

If I could choose to stay in one moment forever, this would be the moment that I chose.

The kiss ends all too soon, and the Sex God pulls back a bit and rests his forehead against mine sweetly. He drops his arms down to hold my hands.

"Wow," he says, breathing a bit heavily.

I nod and smile at him. I don't trust myself to say anything. My brain seems to have gone out to lunch.

"Why don't we continue this someplace more private?" the Sex God asks.

"What?" I'm sorry, I'm not quite paying attention.

He jerks his head towards the glass balcony doors, and I come back down to Earth with a crashing start as I realize that there are several people including Notorious Gossip Extraordinaire Lavender Brown watching us.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask cautiously.

"My bedroom?" he suggests.

WHOA.

WAIT.

Have I fantasized about the Sex God taking me up against a wall?

Absolutely.

Am I ready for the Sex God to take me up against a wall?

Absolutely not.

I never imagined that I would wait until marriage to have sex. I'm not quite that silly-people don't get married as young as they used to, and besides, I'm planning on having my career take off before I even think about getting married. To anyone.

But at the same time, I don't want it to be the kind of spur-of-the-moment, wake-up-and-realize-you've-made-a-stupid-sexual-decision thing: kind of like the things that happen at parties.

"I'm really not comfortable with that," I say honestly.

"Well you seemed pretty comfortable a few minutes ago," the Sex God argues, pulling back from me and letting go of my hands.

"Yeah, but I'm not really ready to go further," I counter. This situation is slowly getting out of hand. Crap. And we were having such a nice time just a few minutes ago, before he opened his big mouth.

"Well why not?" he demands, crossing his arms and looking at me like I've just said something horribly offensive.

"I just don't want to!" I snap. Why the hell should I have to explain myself? I said no. The answer is no. I don't need to tell you why, I'm just saying no.

"Fine. You know what, Granger, when you figure out what the hell is going on in that bushy head of yours, why don't you let me know," he snarls just before marching off.

Even after he walks away, I stand there for a few seconds, slightly stunned. I mean, sure, the two of us have definitely done our share of below-the-belt name calling over the years. But wasn't he just smiling that painfully perfect smile and kissing me? I didn't realize asserting myself and saying "no" to sex qualified bringing our relationship back to square one.

I look down and notice the goosebumps on my arms. I have two options: stay out here and freeze miserably but avoid seeing anyone for the rest of the night, or act like an adult, go back inside, and hope to the high heavens this party ends soon, like right now.

I go back inside.

0000000000

I walk down the hallway, too miserable with the events of the night to even cry. From the sounds of doors closing and the snoring coming from those too drunk or too lazy to find a room, I would hazard a guess that the party is over.

Hallelujah.

I hear some soft laughing behind one door that sounds suspiciously like Mr. Draco Malfoy and Skankarella (although I could be wrong-I didn't give her much time to talk.) I pause for a moment and against my will imagine them in there, kissing and talking.

I can't decide if I wish it was me or not. I didn't want to be just a party fling to him, some drunken hook-up, but I didn't want to be left alone in a cold hallway either.

In the immortal words of Mick Jagger, you can't always get what you want. That seems to be the moral of the story in this case.

In a wild moment of irrationality, I flip the Sex God and his fling off. It's dark and neither one of them can see me and I'm not even sure that they're in that room, but it makes me feel better.

A few doors down, I finally discover an empty bedroom (yes, I even checked the closets. Drunks have been known to sleep in sillier places). I close the door behind me and lock it with a slightly more advanced spell that a simple "Alohomora" can't break. I don't think anyone in this house will be able to think further than that elementary spell at the moment. I kick off my heels, wincing at the blisters that have formed on my feet. Ginny always says I should practice wearing high heels and that I wouldn't have feet that looked like I'd just walked the Bataan Death March if I did. Oh well. Too late for that now.

I lie down on the bed and pull the covers up to my chin, suddenly realizing how tired I am. This entire night has been exhausting, both emotionally and physically. I can't wait for the weekend to be over so I can focus on regular things like my classes and homework-things that don't involve making a person feel bad because they spent the night alone. I meant what I said: I don't want to sleep with the Sex God. I'm not ready for that and I've heard too many tales of girls who hoped for a relationship sleeping with a guy way too early and finding themselves without any chance of a serious attachment at all. But I would have slept in his bed with him. Nothing would be better right now than to feel his warm body in the bed next to me.

I catch myself staring at the doors and chastise my silly, girly brain for even daring to hope that he's going to knock on my bedroom door and ask if he can lay in the bed with me.

Like he would want to just sleep next to some girl when he's got Skanky's taco bar open and ready for business.

Yuck.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stop it. You're only hurting yourself more. And grossing yourself out.

I roll over (ha, silly girl brain! Take that! Now you only have the wall to stare at!) and the tears come without my permission. They roll down my cheeks, making little damp spots on the previously dry pillow. I don't have the energy to try and stop myself. I'll just continue until I fall asleep, crying over someone who doesn't deserve to have broken my heart.

0000000000

The rest of the weekend is spent doing homework. For once, I'm actually glad I have the motherload. Keeps me nice and hidden in my room.

It also keeps me from thinking about how disappointed I am that the Sex God and I have still gotten nowhere. It seemed like we were making some progress, but that got shot to hell, and now I'm right back where I started, except slightly more miserable and a lot more confused.

Monday morning comes all too quickly, and once again I find myself in the Great Hall, eating breakfast with the other Gryffindors.

As I butter my waffles, I look furtively around the room, and notice with some degree of unjustified comfort that I'm not the only one avoiding eye contact with everyone, including the mail owls.

I'm also not the only one planning on making an early exodus. A Hufflepuff girl whose name I can never remember (but whose bartop striptease won't be forgotten anytime soon) doesn't even make it through 5 minutes' worth of breakfast.

I wave goodbye to Harry and Ron and head off towards the section of the castle that houses the Ancient Runes classroom. I'm the only Gryffindor in the class: it's mostly seventh-year Ravenclaws, which is unsurprising when you consider the difficulty of the class. Me, ten Ravenclaws, and…Pansy Parkinson.

Who is standing outside the classroom, examining her nails and looking murderous.

As I near the door I get the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that say, a Dragon Tamer gets when he enters the pen of a Hungarian Horntail.

"Granger!" she barks, making a beeline towards me.

Le sigh.

"What is it, Parkinson? Broke a nail and need help looking for it?" I ask in a stony voice. Inside, I'm shaking. What does she want?

I'm not afraid of Pansy Parkinson in the least, but at the same time, I don't particularly want to be Most Wanted on her shit list.

"I heard about what happened with Draco at the party, you little Gryffinwhore," Pansy snarls, gripping her books as though they're the only things preventing her from hauling off and punching me.

"And?" I say, as though this piece of information means absolutely nothing to me. I'm not really surprised. Lavender Brown doesn't hesitate to sow the seeds of gossip and social destruction, regardless of house loyalties.

"And if you ever go near him again, you'll be sorry. We may not be together right now, but Draco and I-we're MEANT to be. He just needs to get this out of his system and then we can start planning our future. I may not be able to stop him from having a little fling, but I can definitely influence who he's fooling around with. And you, you prude little bitch, you just won't do."

"Are you threatened by me, Pansy?" I ask mockingly. "You sound threatened. Are you worried that your precious Draco Malfoy might actually choose someone of my inferior bloodline over you?"

For a moment, a worried look flickers across Pansy's face, and I get to see what's under her fabulous skin. I might almost feel bad for her, if she wasn't, well, Pansy Parkinson. I mean, here she is, totally in love with a guy, and he doesn't want her and openly screws around with other women without caring about how she might feel. And she can't say anything, because they're not together and there's nothing she can do about it. I can't imagine how terrifying it must be to wonder if you really should go out on a limb like that. What if you find you're standing alone?

There's probably nothing worse, at least, not in the relationship department. I'm not saying this rivals, say, the Ebola Virus in the category of Things That Suck In Life.

I walk into the classroom without giving her a chance to respond.

0000000000

"HE SAID THAT?!"

"Gin, come on, not so loud," I plead, nervously glancing towards my bedroom door.

"I can't believe he said that to you. Hermione, he is such a jerk. Props for not caving to the pressure," Ginny says, giving me an apologetic look and plopping down on my bed.

"Do all guys do that? I mean, I know being told you're not getting laid isn't the best thing to hear, but I don't know, I was kind of expecting that he'd just be all 'okay,' not demanding an explanation."

"Well you don't owe him anything," Ginny says bracingly. "If you're not ready, you're not ready. That's all there is to it."

"He's probably never going to talk to me again," I mutter, absentmindedly straightening a stack of books.

"Oh come on, you don't know that. I mean yeah, he's acting like a complete asshole right now, but it'll blow over. Don't worry about it."

"How can I NOT worry about it? It's all I can think about. HE'S all I can think about. I feel ridiculous. I'm like a twelve year old. I like him so much I don't even like to admit it to myself."

"Well no matter what, playing hard to get has been a tried and true method for pretty much since women realized that they could outsmart men. Just go around acting like nothing has changed, and give him the cold shoulder. Once he realizes that you're not paying any attention to him, it'll make him want your attention even more, and then it's a whole new Quidditch game," Ginny says.

Sometimes, she's so wise I can't even get over it.

And anyway, it's worth a shot. I couldn't possibly do any worse than I'm doing now.

**0000000000**

**It's a little short, but I figured a shorter installment is better than no installment. I love you all, and please forgive me. Read and review. Doooo it.**

**-Carrie**


	27. A Surprising Request

**Sorry if the last chapter was a bit depressing. I'm not planning on having too many sad moments, but sometimes, liking a guy can be just plain miserable. As I'm sure we're all painfully aware.**

**Moving on.**

**DISCLAIMER: For the 27****th**** time, just the plot is mine, not the characters, setting, or anything else you already recognize from the Harry Potter books. I should think this was obvious by now, but since J.K. Rowling is currently pointing a double-barreled shotgun at the back of my head, I'm typing it anyway.**

**Onward and upward.**

**0000000000**

It is extremely difficult to not look at someone when you are trying to not look at them.

Thursday's dinner finds me sitting with my back to the Slytherin table, harboring a newfound fascination for my peas.

"Has he looked over here yet?" I ask Ginny quietly after glancing at Ron and Harry to make sure they are suitably occupied. (For those curious, Ron is currently seeing how many chicken wings he can fit in his mouth while being egged on by Seamus Finnigan and a few fifth year Gryffindor boys. He is such a pig sometimes. There have been occasions where I am literally too embarrassed to be seen with him. But, being the nice person that I am, I usually end up sitting there being embarrassed for him because he just doesn't seem to know enough to have any shame or sense of common decency. I-)

Before I get too far into this rant, allow me to move on.

"For the millionth time, no, he hasn't," Ginny answers, putting her napkin down on the table. "It's going to take a little bit of time, Hermione. He's not going to notice right away. Unless the two of you are extremely close and talk every single day, men are pretty clueless about this stuff at first. And even if you are really close and talk every day, there's still no guarantees. Depends on their personal brain density."

Damn it. I want him to know I'm ignoring him.

"Well the only thing we talk about is homework and prefect stuff," I sigh, grabbing my bag from under my seat. Together, we stand up and start out of the Great Hall.

"Hold that thought, I just want to say goodbye to Ron," Ginny says. She looks over just in time to catch her brother smiling goofily with a mouthful of chicken saying something like, "She, I got sheven in hea!"

"Ugh, nevermind," she says with a disgusted look. "Anyway, just try to put him out of your mind. The quicker you stop thinking about him, the sooner you'll have an easier time ignoring him. It'll become like second nature."

Easy for her to say. She wasn't the one who got the beejesus snogged out of her by the Sexiest Man Alive.

I turn down Ginny's invitation to hang out in the Gryffindor common room. McGonagall has seemed to decide that her class is the only one anybody's taking this year and has overloaded on the homework even more so than usual. And I would hate to blow it in her class in my very last year just because I can't stop talking or thinking about Draco Malfoy.

It's amazing. I went from being a human being capable of rational thought to a girl standing in front of the dressing room mirror wondering if he'd like this top on me in less time than it takes for Roman Polanski to respond "yes" to a 13 year old's birthday party.

Ridiculous.

I've never been a boy-crazy girl. I'm sure this has prompted Parvati and Lavender the Gossip Twins to stay up late a few nights and debate my sexuality, but in truth, I've never met any boy actually worth liking. Most of the boys my age have the maturity of a 12 year old, and even if they are intelligent, they hide it rather well behind Firewhiskey drinking contests and a stereotypical attraction to girls with DD's. I mean yeah, I did moon over Cedric Diggory and his male model good looks with the rest of the girls, but I was never really interested in him as a person ( bit of a nice guy doormat, if you ask me) and quite frankly I wouldn't have known what to do with myself if he'd approached me. And after the string of bad dates I've had recently (Thank you, Ron and Terry), I'm not exactly eager to put myself out there again.

Maybe the only reason I'm interested in Draco Malfoy is because I know I can't have him, and that makes it…safe, somehow. If that makes any sense.

Stop it, Hermione. Think homework. Think big Charms test coming up on Monday.

It works until I enter the Heads' common room and see to my utter dismay that the Sex God has somehow magically (haha, magic jokes!) beaten me upstairs.

Seriously? He was just down at dinner. What are you trying to do, torture me?

It takes a minute before I realize I'm standing in the doorway gaping like a fish.

Attractive.

Remember what Ginny said. Ignore actively, and go straight upstairs. Try not to run.

I walk upstairs at a controlled, normal pace, oddly torn between reaching the safety of my room and at the same time hoping against hope that he'll say something to me just so I can have an excuse to interact with him.

I reach my room in safety. He doesn't say anything.

_He _is ignoring _me_?!

What an ass! Where the hell does he get off ignoring me? I mean, he's the one who snogged me in the first place! It's not like I asked for it, I was just standing around, minding my own business and then BAM! His lips are on mine and I'm, well, dying and going to heaven.

But that's not the point.

What a jerk.

I spend the rest of the evening finding tiny excuses to go down into the common room and the kitchens just to see if I can coax him into saying anything.

It's unbelievable. I've never been so desperate for anybody to talk to me in my life.

I might as well cut out the middleman and just wear a big shirt that says, "SAY SOMETHING, YOU FOOL!"

Sigh. Men.

I get very little homework done in the process.

**0000000000**

Monday's Charms test goes very badly, at least in my opinion. I hardly saw the Sex God all weekend, and when I did, he barely seemed to notice me at all and didn't speak to me once. I didn't even get the chance to ignore him.

I must admit I feel rather cheated.

Nobody told me he might pull the rug out from under my feet by turning the tables on me.

Damn. And it's rather unhelpful that this thought seems to have taken on the form of a broken record and is replaying in my mind continuously as I try to come up with cohesive answers to Flitwick's test questions.

I pass Ginny in the hallway before the last class of the day and she passes me a note.

Last class on Monday is, unfortunately, History of Magic with the undaunted Professor Binns. I put my books on my desk and begin to unfold the note cautiously under my desk.

Then I catch myself. Professor Binns wouldn't notice if a troll burst through the wall and ate all of his students right in front of him. He'd just go right on teaching.

_Meet me after class. I have some gossip that might actually interest you for a change._

_-Ginny_

History of Magic has never passed so slowly.

After the bell rings, startling everyone out of a nearly comatose state, I rush to the Gryffindor common room, anxiously awaiting Ginny's return.

"What? What is it?" I ask as she comes through the portrait hole.

"We should probably talk about it in your room. More privacy," Ginny says mysteriously, backing out of the room and motioning for me to follow her.

Once back at my room, I shut the door eagerly, nearly breaking my own fingers in the process.

"Has the Sex God seemed a bit distant lately?" Ginny asks.

Usually gossip doesn't grab my attention but today, probably not even the sight of the Sex God naked could distract me.

Alright. That might be an exaggeration.

But you get it.

"Well, remember after dinner on Friday when Malfoy up and left and Pansy left a conveniently short amount of time after him?"

Yes, of course I remember. I'm desperately trying not to.

I nod curtly.

Ginny continues, "Hannah Abbot passed them talking in one of those alcoves near the stairs on the way back from the bathroom. Now she's not exactly sure what was said, but they were definitely deep in conversation. She said that Pansy was crying and Malfoy kind of had his arm around her a bit, I'm guessing in an effort to calm her down."

My heart skips a beat.

"And on Saturday, Luna spotted them having another little chat after Malfoy's Quidditch practice. But she actually managed to creep close enough to listen. She's a sneaky one, that Luna, when she wants to be."

Ginny pauses for a moment with a thoughtful look on her face, as though she's trying to judge Luna and her sneakiness on some sort of mental scale.

"GINNY!"

"Oh, right. So basically, Malfoy's obviously calmed down enough to listen to what Pansy has to say. It's unfortunate for you that they dated for like two years and therefore have a lot of history."

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock," I interrupt, cranky. My mood is now in a downhill slope. This is like a trainwreck. I want to stop listening, but I'm paralyzed by my inability to do anything other than imagine Pansy and Draco in a heated reunion makeout session. "She has a history with him, and I don't. Unless you count several years of pulling pranks, punching each other, and endless mocking."

"Who's Sherlock?" Ginny asks with a slightly befuddled look on her face.

"Nevermind," I sigh. "Anything else on the Gruesome Twosome I should know about so I can obsess over it for a week?"

"Not really. Haven't heard anything about it since the weekend," Ginny says. She gives me a sympathetic look and pats my knee. "Look, I'm sorry if this hurt you, but I just thought you should be aware. There'd be nothing worse than being the last to know."

"Yeah, thanks," I mutter. She's right though. Being the last to know IS the worst. Nothing can make you feel more like a fool.

"AND I know this is probably not the right time to tell you this but Blaise asked me out this weekend! He wants to go to dinner!"

Ah yes, just what I needed. A friend whose love life is actually working out.

"Have you at all mentioned to Harry that there's now someone else intruding on your relationship?" I ask.

You'll have to excuse me, I'm rather bitter at the moment.

"I've come close," Ginny admits. "I don't want to hurt him, but our relationship is so…stagnant. We like each other, we've made out countless times, but every time I bring up making it official or having it go further than that he sort of shuts down and keeps saying that now is not the time."

"He's been saying that for a few years," I agree, leaning over to rub her arm sympathetically.

"Yeah and it's just like how much longer am I supposed to wait on him? I mean for a while I was singularly focused on him, so it wasn't such a big deal, but now there's somebody else who's obviously interested. I don't want to waste years and years waiting for Harry only to find out he was never serious about me."

I nod. I understand where she's coming from, but I just wish the person on the opposite end wasn't one of my best friends.

**0000000000**

The rest of the week is relatively uneventful. I continue to give the Sex God a cold shoulder that puts winter's icy chill to shame, and he continues to be completely oblivious despite my best efforts. I'm so swamped in homework that most of my social contact continues to come via a textbook and the Wednesday evening study group McGonagall asked me to put together to try and keep everyone on track. (I guess it's part of the Heads' duties to do this every year, and honestly it mostly involves me struggling to do my homework and study while people ask me for the answers to all the questions.)

Thursday evening, however, is a different story.

After dinner, Ginny grabs my arm as I'm heading back to my common room to begin another pleasant evening of writing Snape's two-foot long essay.

"I've been thinking about our conversation about Harry," she says nervously. "And I think I have to tell him that I'm going to start seeing other people."

"That's probably a good idea," I agree. "Honesty and communication are very important. And who knows? This could be just the thing he needs to light a fire under his stagnant ass."

Ginny giggles a bit. "I know, right? But here's the other thing: I've been thinking about it a lot, and I'm not sure if I really want him to turn around and ask me out anymore. Harry's great, and I've known him for a long time, and we get along, and he's very cute…but I've been spending time with Blaise here and there, and I think I might really like him."

Ho boy.

I gesture at her helplessly.

I am really out of my element here. Choosing between two guys, both of whom want me?

Yeah, never had that happen. Instead I'm ignoring a man who has no idea I'm ignoring him. Well done, me.

"And I mean, I thought about asking you to come with me, cause I think he'll be rather upset, but that would just be embarrassing," she continues.

I nod.

Thank Merlin. Getting rejected is never fun, and bringing in an audience just ups the humiliation factor…oh, I don't know, let's say a million times over just to be on the safe side.

"Well, just be honest, and tell him how you feel," I suggest. "Sometimes guys don't do anything because they're waiting for you to take the hint that they're not really interested."

Yes, that's it. Be tactful. Make her feel like a fool.

"I guess," she shrugs. At that particular moment, Harry wanders by us with Ron, pausing for a moment to wave.

"Well I'm gonna go do this before I lose my nerve completely," Ginny says, straightening up and giving me a quick hug. "Thanks for the pep talk. I'll be by at some point to let you know how it went."

"Okay. I'll be chained to my desk if you need me," I say and then I turn and head upstairs to begin another long night.

**0000000000**

"Granger? Granger! Are you in there?"

The knock on my door startles me. I sit up quickly, taking the page of my essay that's stuck to my face with me. I brush it off and hurry over to the door.

"Malfoy?" I ask stupidly.

"In the flesh," he answers arrogantly, leaning against my door frame (le sigh) in an utterly nonchalant and oh-so-sexy manner. "Your friend is downstairs. Seems a bit anxious. Wanted to talk to you. Nice inkstained cheek, by the way, is that a new look women are trying out these days?"

Dear floor, please feel free to open up and swallow me whole. Immediately.

"Shut it," I respond lamely. Nice comeback, lightning.

Ginny appears behind the Sex God, hovering rather nervously.

"Hey, Hermione. I did it," she says.

"Alright, well, come on in." I stand back to allow her room. I nod at Malfoy and shut the door before he can say anything else and/or stare at the very attractive inkstain on my face.

"How did it go?" I ask Ginny as she plops down on my bed.

"It went terribly. By the way, I see you're doing very well ignoring Malfoy. Way to rule with the iron fist, Grindelwald."

"Shush. Now tell me about Harry."

"Well I went in just like we said, and I told him that I had waited for him but I didn't feel our relationship was really going anywhere. And then he started in on this whole guilt trip thing about how I should know how much he's going through and that he's sorry he can't meet my expectations right now and that he feels he's a failure as a boyfriend and he obviously let me down."

"Wait," I interrupt. "Your boyfriend? I didn't know you guys were girlfriend and boyfriend."

"Neither did I, to be honest," Ginny says. "He never used those words to describe our relationship. Which is exactly what I said to him, which of course led to him asking me exactly what I thought we were doing….and it was just a mess. I don't think he's going to be talking to me for a while. And just wait until Ron hears about this. He'll be all on my back about it. Like Harry can't speak for himself."

No argument there. Harry and Ron seem to be a sort of package deal. It's actually rather irritating sometimes how they both put their noses in each other's business. It's practically like they're both dating each other's girlfriends.

"And then on my way here I ran into Blaise, and he checked to make sure we were on for tomorrow night," Ginny continues.

"You didn't tell Harry who the 'other people' you were going to see…you didn't tell him it was Blaise, right?" I ask, praying that Ginny retained some sense in the face of her upsetment.

"No, of course not. It's not really his business anyway, and that would've just made it worse, like I was dumping him for someone else."

"Which you sort of are," I supply.

"Kind of…I don't know. Ugh, Merlin. Hermione, can I ask you for a favor?"

"Yeah," I say, picking up my essay page off the floor.

"Will you come with me tomorrow night?"

Note Hermione Granger: now would be a good time to wipe that horrified look off your face.

"What?" I ask, stunned.

"Please? Pretty please with pixie dust on top? I'll find a date for you and everything, all you have to do is show up! Please? I could use the emotional support and stuff," Ginny says hastily.

"Uh..um…" I stammer.

"Great! Thank you so much! I love you! Don't worry, I won't pick a troll or anything. See you tomorrow night! Entrance Hall, 8:30!"

Before I can say anything else, she rushes out.

I find it impossible to finish my essay. How do I get myself into these things? I didn't even say yes.

**0000000000**

The next evening, quite against my better judgment (seems to be happening a lot lately, doesn't it?) I find myself doing my hair and putting on the standard date outfit (read: Little Black Dress).

I know. I'm at a loss for words myself. It's like I'm floating on the ceiling and watching my doppelganger put on some tasteful makeup and debate between pumps and stilettos. Who will my date be? What if it's one of Blaise's godawful friends (anybody remember The Chainsmoking Plant?).

I head down to the Entrance Hall in a daze. It's very crowded, and I have to push my way through several groups of people before I spot Ginny and Blaise.

"Hey guys."

"Hi, Hermione," Ginny says. "You look great." Blaise nods in agreement, smiling.

If it's one thing I've learned, it's to always be suspicious when a Slytherin is smiling.

"Yeah, well…are we ready to go?" I ask, smoothing down the front of my dress.

"Yeah, in a minute. Don't you want to meet your date?" Blaise asks.

"Okay, sure," I say absentmindedly.

"Hermione, you remember…" Blaise steps aside to reveal the fourth addition to our little double date.

I look up from examining my shoes for scuffmarks to see who it is.

Draco Malfoy.

**0000000000**

**Read and review, lovelies.**

**-Carrie**


	28. Full of Surprises

**I'm glad you all liked the cliffhanger so much. I sat there for a few minutes being extremely proud of it. Thanks for all the wonderful reviews: it's amazing that after nearly 6 years, you're all still with me.**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter. But I'm going out right now to duel J.K. Rowling with some nun chucks, so we'll see who the owner is when I get back!**

**0000000000**

My mouth goes as dry as the Sahara. In fact, I'm pretty sure I can feel the effects of desertification working their way down into my stomach right now. They'll be sure to continue on to my intestines, since the bottom of my stomach seems to have fucked off and taken a holiday.

It takes a minute to realize that everyone, including said Mr. Malfoy, is looking at me, waiting for some sort of response.

"We've met," I say shortly.

Ginny beams, and Blaise claps Draco on the back in that man-to-man sort of way and says hastily, "Let's get going, shall we?"

What's that smell?

Oh, yes, hello awkwardness. I've missed you!

"Good to see you've managed to wash the ink off your face," the Sex God says as he brushes past me, following Blaise's lead towards the door.

"Why do I think this was your idea?" I mutter to Ginny as we fall into step behind the boys.

"Because I'm your best friend and a sneaky Weasley?" Ginny asks rhetorically.

As I pause to put my cloak on, I can feel someone looking at me. I turn a bit to see Pansy Parkinson standing with her usual gaggle of girls, shooting me the Look of Death.

If looks could kill, I imagine I'd have been Avada'd about ten times over by now.

I send her a polite wave and a smirk. Never show fear in front of a pack of angry animals, right?

This is going to be one ugly evening.

**0000000000**

I don't get the chance to corner Ginny all the way down to the restaurant. She and Blaise and Draco all share a love for Quidditch, and although Ginny's interest in it is less than the obsession all men seem to take with it (all men are alike, all sharing a one true love for Sportscenter, yeah?), she can still talk about it with some knowledge.

I'm sure everyone knows more about Quidditch than me. Other than that it's a game played on brooms and Harry is a Seeker, you got me.

Although Ginny makes some polite attempts to include me in the conversation (Ozzy and Harriet are way too involved with arguing over who will play at the World Cup this year to notice if a meteor came flying down on their silly heads), I end up spending most of the walk looking for ankle-breaking potholes (ah, the joys of wearing heels) and wrapping my cloak around myself to keep out the chilly November wind.

The restaurant is actually a rather nice place, a cozy, upscale-looking joint located several blocks away from the busy Hogsmeade main thoroughfare. As the maitre-d takes our coats, Draco and Blaise spend several moments arguing over who should get to take credit for the restaurant choice. Ginny rolls her eyes and walks over to me.

"Try and relax," she says bracingly.

" 'Try and relax?' Really?" I hiss. "Don't you come over here and tell me to relax! You bring two of the hottest guys in school, who are from our rival House, out to dinner and expect that I'll be fine with it?! Did you see the looks the Sex God's ex was shooting me? She had the eyes of a crazy person! I was set up! This dinner is like the blind date equivalent of a drive-by shooting!"

"Shuuuut it," Ginny warns, plastering a smile on her face. I look over to see Blaise walking over to us.

"Malfoy's getting us a table by a window," he informs us, offering his arm to Ginny. "We should be seated in just a moment, ladies."

And with that, Blaise escorts Ginny towards the dining room entrance, leaving me to ponder exactly what would happen if I grabbed my cloak and ran out of the restaurant.

"_Where's Hermione?" Ginny asks, clutching Blaise's arm. "She was here just a minute ago."_

"_Must've ran off," the Sex God says, taking a moment to glance around quickly. He elbows Blaise. "Too much of a wuss to go out on a double date with the great Draco Malfoy. What did I tell you? My wand's reputation precedes me!"_

_With that, all three burst into laughter._

Yeah, nevermind. Scratch that.

Punk up, Hermione. You're a strong, independent woman. No need to reduce yourself to a dithering mess over some totally unattainable, totally hot, totally arrogant man.

I escort myself over to our table, where Blaise is pulling out a chair for Ginny and Malfoy is flagging down a waitress, presumably to over-order on the drinks and quell the tension that rivals the stress felt at a UN nuclear arms summit meeting.

"What can I get for you and your guests, Mr. Malfoy?" the waitress asks, sauntering over like a lap dancer.

"Two scotch-on-the-rocks for myself and Mr. Zabini-single malt, Glenlivet, please-and two glasses of your best champagne for the ladies," the Sex God says with a natural air of authority.

"Of course. Right away. I'll be back with some menus," the waitress replies, batting her lashes with the ferocity of a hummingbird's wings.

Oh. He's one of THOSE guys.

The guy that takes you out and proceeds to order for you, shutting down all of your protestations with a, "Try it, you'll like it" or "The lobster bisque is their most famous dish."

"Glenlivet?" I ask as I seat myself in a chair next to Malfoy that has mysteriously already been pulled out for me.

"Surprised?" he responds mildly, pushing me towards the table. "Quality of liquor is an area where Muggles have managed to out-do Wizards time and again. If you've ever tasted a glass of Firewhiskey, you'll know exactly what I mean. The burning sensation, cheap taste: horrid stuff. The only thing Wizard liquor is good for is getting drunk as fast as possible."

"Do you own the restaurant?" Ginny asks. It's a good question, and I'm sure I would've asked if it she hadn't. The prime table, impeccable service: either he owns it or the Malfoy family are regulars here.

"No, but my family was one of the original investors. My father often conducts his business here, over dinner," the Sex God replies, seating himself next to me.

"Does he go on retreats also?" I ask, accepting my glass of champagne from the waitress (don't think I don't see you giving me a dirty look for being out on a date with Draco Malfoy, you daft bint!)

"Sort of," the Sex God responds, leaning back in his chair. "He and his associates usually take a day or two of leisure during their business trips."

"Hermione, didn't you say something once about your parents going on some sort of trip with their work colleagues?" Ginny asks.

I wonder if anyone else notices how she's steering the conversation with an iron grip so we all get to know each other better. Anybody?

"Yes," I reply, setting my glass down on the table. "They go on cruises every year, exclusively for doctors. The cruises are sponsored by the pharmaceutical companies that want the business and good word-of-mouth of people like my parents."

"Your parents are doctors? Really? I didn't know that," the Sex God comments.

_Well, you wouldn't know that, you've never really paid much attention me, _says a snarky (and rather bitter) little voice inside my head.

"Yes, they're dentists. How did you and Blaise meet, anyway?" I ask, desperate for the spotlight to be on somebody else for a few minutes.

"His father and mine have been business partners and friends for many years," the blond apple of my eye replies. "Our mothers are friends also. We've known each other for just about forever."

The conversation continues on like this, gradually becoming slightly more natural so Ginny "Captain of Matchmaking and Good Conversation" Weasley can take a rest. I've just discovered laughing in between bites so as to avoid unattractively spewing soup all over my dinner partners when I see Ginny's face go so white she looks like a redheaded freckle.

"What is it?" I ask in a low voice (Draco and Blaise are killing themselves laughing about some childhood Quidditch games that involved throwing rocks at each other pretending they were Snitches. "And the more times you caught it, the harder I'd throw it at you! HAHAHAHA!" Sigh, men.)

"Please follow me in a quick trip to the ladies' room," Ginny says. We politely excuse ourselves and then walk to the bathroom at such a pace that I almost wish an Olympic speedwalking scout was there to see us.

"What?" I ask as the bathroom door shuts behind us. Without answering me, Ginny begins to peer under the stalls, obviously checking to make sure we're alone. "Do I have something on my face? Did you-" I lower my voice-"did your lady's time come and you don't have a tampon?"

Ginny straightens up and fixes me with a repulsed look. "What?! No! What in the bloody hell would lead you to that conclusion?"

"Well, I'm sorry! You just had such a horrified look on your face, and I know that personally, being on a date with the hottest man ever and then graphically reminding him of my feminine cycle definitely is near the top of my list as one of the Worst Things Ever. And then you asked me to come to the bathroom with you, so I just decided I would check."

"Oh, well, no. Actually, it might be something worse," Ginny says, walking over to me. "Hermione, I hate to have to tell you this, but…Pansy Parkinson is here."

"I'm sorry, what? You'll have to repeat that. I just went spontaneously deaf-I thought you just said Pansy Parkinson is here, as in inside this restaurant," I respond, laughing nervously.

"Yeah, that's exactly what I just said. Don't know if she's on a date, I saw her face and ducked. Nearly went for a swim in my soup."

"Well…um….well, d'you think Malfoy noticed?" I ask.

I've noticed that during this entire conversation, my voice has gotten steadily higher and higher, rather like I'm breathing out of a big helium balloon labeled "This Can't Be Happening."

"Hm, I dunno. Let's check," Ginny says, opening the door a bit and peering out into the dining area. I look over her shoulder.

Pansy Parkinson, dressed to the nines in a nauseatingly expensive black dress and leopard-print stilettos and obviously quite without a date, is standing in the restaurant, chatting with Blaise and Draco.

Well, I guess he noticed.

A sudden thought dawns on me like an anvil landing on a cartoon character, and I slam the door so fast I nearly leave Ginny's nose in the entranceway.

"Do you think he invited her?" I demand. Before she can answer, I plunge headlong into Total Paranoia. "Oh. My. God. I bet he invited her so he wouldn't have to stay on this date with me! And then I bet he thought that once I saw her, I'd go running for the castle, and he could stay and have a nice date with her and the two of you and then I'd be out of the picture once and for all!" I open the door again a smidgen, and sure enough, as if seemingly responding to my fantastic detective work, Blaise is pulling out a chair for Pansy, at the unoccupied part of the table between himself and Draco.

"Hermione, I don't think that's it." Ginny says, rubbing my arm sympathetically.

"And why not? Did you not just witness a chair for Pansy being placed at OUR table?" I feel a lump rising in my throat and realize that, to my chagrin, more Draco-Malfoy-inspired tears are about to come flooding out of my eyeballs.

"Because I asked him if he'd like to come with me and Blaise as your date. I didn't trick him or anything, none of that stuff. I just said, 'Blaise and I are going out on a date. Would you want to come? I could invite Hermione, we could make it a sort of fun group thing,' and he said yes, he'd like that very much."

I'm going to need a crash helmet if people keep dropping anvils on my head.

"Really?" I ask. And while you're out getting the crash helmet, stop and rent a crane to pick my jaw up off the floor.

"Yeah, really. I don't know why Pansy Parkinson is here. But we're going to go back out to that table and make her night uncomfortable and awkward. Got it?"

I nod. Draco Malfoy _wanted _to go on a date with me! Ginny could've been asking me if I was ready to feed my leg to a dragon right now and I probably would've said yes.

"Okay," Ginny opens the door, but then seems to rethink it and turns around. "And wipe that foolish, dreamy smile off your face. You look like a blithering idiot, and not like the attractive, intelligent date of the one and only Sex God."

I quickly put my face into a more normal expression.

"Good girl," Ginny says.

We walk back over to the table. Ginny smiles at Blaise, and copying her lead, I do the same to the Sex God. Both men are regarding us with the disconcerted, rather guilty expressions of people who have been caught with their hands in the cookie jar. There's also a hint of-is that relief?

"Ladies, we were just wondering where you'd got off to," Blaise says, pulling out Ginny's chair. The Sex God rises and does the same for me.

I take the opportunity to peek around the Sex God's manly (and mmm…sexy…so close to me…) body and find myself slightly enjoying the undignified expression of complete horror now rapidly spreading across Pansy Parkinson's unfortunately attractive face.

Obviously, she thought they were alone.

"Pansy, you remember Ginny Weasley and Hermione Granger," Blaise says, clearly fighting back laughter.

Pansy seems startled out of her thoughts. She nods curtly and then replaces her current expression with the usual trademark smirk.

"Yes, of course. Tell me Granger, are your parents so wealthy that they don't mind when you pay men to be seen in public with you?"

I open my mouth to respond, but tonight is just full of surprises, and the Sex God beats me to it. "I'll have you be more polite to my date, Pansy," he snaps.

"I was only asking, Draco," Pansy replies in a tone notably sweeter than the one she used to address me.

"I'm sure you were," he says, clearly not believing a word of it.

For a moment, Pansy looks at a loss for what to do. I find myself watching her expectantly, mentally chanting, "_Get up and leave!" _

However, I will have no such luck tonight. Instead, she settles in her chair and says, "Have you ordered already?"

**0000000000**

When I imagined my dates with Draco Malfoy, I pictured romance and slightly sappy declarations of love. I pictured hand-holding and magical moments of us staring at each other, so deep in making googly eyes that we never noticed the wait staff talking to us. I imagined steamy make-out sessions in which we closed the restaurant.

I did NOT imagine being seated with the Sex God, my best friend, her date, and the Sex God's pretty, vindictive ex at the head of the table.

Pansy takes every opportunity to lash out at me with her acid tongue. She makes one or two cracks about Ginny, seemingly unable to resist the temptation to mock the Weasleys' well-known financial woes, but appears to especially have it in for me.

Throughout the first bites of my dinner, I try my best to relax and find it in me to have some sympathy for the girl. Here she is, still in love with her ex-boyfriend who is no longer interested in a relationship with her, but after about the third or fourth, "Do they even make food like that for poor, dirty Muggles?" all of my sympathy has been banished to the furthest reaches of the universe and I have a raging migraine.

This situation is clearly giving the others a stomach-ache also, because when the waitress comes around to ask if we'll be having dessert, she's met with a resounding, "NO! Just the check!"

"It's too bad, I am just having so much fun," Pansy says, grinning evilly while she digs around in her clutch for something.

"You're the only one," the Sex God snarls. "Do you mind leaving now, Pansy?"

She looks up, surprised. Ginny is grinning triumphantly and Blaise has a look of amusement on his face.

"Oh, well, alright," she grumbles, rising and putting on her coat.

"And before you go, don't forget to leave money for your dinner," the Sex God continues, with a slightly satisfied smirk on his face.

Pansy looks as though she's about to say something, and then thinks better of it, plunking down some cash and stalking off towards the door.

We all sit in silence for a few moments (I don't know about anybody else, but I'm too exhausted from defending myself all evening for words). Then, Blaise leans forward and says, "Well, we weren't expecting that, now were we?"

**0000000000**

The walk back to the castle is rather quiet. The temperature seems to have dropped quite a bit, and the mood is rather downtrodden from the stress of the evening. The Sex God and I bid Blaise and Ginny goodnight in the foyer of the castle (Blaise winks at us before turning back to Ginny, who surreptitiously mouths, "_I'll tell you everything tomorrow!" _at me.)

I follow the Sex God back up to the Heads' chambers in silence. He plops down on the couch with an audible sigh, and I stand there for a moment, looking at him, before miserably starting towards the stairs to my room.

"Hermione, wait."

I turn, looking back at him.

"That's not usually how I treat my dates," he says, looking genuinely mortified. "I profoundly apologize for the way Pansy treated you tonight. I had no idea she was going to show up and then actually stay for dinner just so she could ruin it."

"Oh. Well, it's not your fault," I say helplessly.

"Yeah, well…I'm sure you'll say no after what happened this time, but I was just wondering if you'd like to go on another date with me. We can go with Ginny and Blaise again, if you want," he offers.

There is a tiny choir of angels that has been following me around for just this sort of moment. They are currently breaking into song, singing "ALLLLLELUIA! ALLLLLLLELUIA!"

"Yeah, I'd like that," I say, struggling to keep the ginormous smile off my face. Don't want to look like an idiot now and blow it, do we?

"Really?" the Sex God looks slightly surprised, and then recovers. He grins. "Well, alright then. Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Draco," I reply, and then force myself to walk (not bound) back to my room, where I close the door and lean against it.

I allow the biggest smile ever to break out across my face. I even do a dance of victory.

I HAVE A SECOND DATE WITH DRACO MALFOY. I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD SAY THIS, BUT THANK YOU, PANSY PARKINSON.

**00000000000000**

**Semester's over, thought I'd finish this chapter for all of you to enjoy. Happy Holidays to everyone.**

**Read and review!**

**-Carrie**


	29. A Project and a New Mission

**SPECIAL REQUEST: I was reading the synopsis the other day as I was editing the chapter number, and I don't quite feel it does the story justice. Anybody feel I should change it? And if so, any suggestions? **

**Don't worry, story isn't over yet. And thank you for all of the wonderful reviews.**

**DISCLAIMER: Alas, from the recovery room of the hospital, I write the words, "I do not own anything except the plot." The ER nurse said I had the worst nun chuck induced injuries she'd ever seen. But I won't give up. Hear me, J.K.? This isn't over!**

**0000000000**

Saturday afternoon is the first Quidditch game of the season. For some reason, the games started unusually late this year. Other than my little showdown with Lavender and Dean Thomas's top-volume shouting match with Professor Snape, the delay in the start of the Quidditch games has been the talk of the school.

I shudder to recall an incident in which some fifth years on the Ravenclaw team somehow convinced themselves that a person called the High Commissioner of Quidditch was recalling all brooms and instead giving players strap-on wings, and that was the reason for the delay. They chased me down the Charms corridor demanding to be told the "top secret" information Dumbledore had supposedly given me.

And I thought they were supposed to be the House known for its intelligence.

I'm enjoying a rather dreamy breakfast during which I'm imagining that Draco and I live together as boyfriend and girlfriend (yes, one of those where you're embarrassed to even be _thinking _it, like other people can see into your brain) when I'm disrupted by an owl tapping on my bedroom window.

And right in the middle of our imaginary hot kitchen sex, too.

Drat.

"Alright, bugger off then," I mutter to the owl, handing it some treats and accepting the letter from its beak. The owl hoots at me rather indignantly (did it seriously take offense to my telling it to "bugger off?") and I shut out the cold November air.

Here it is. The first of many sappy love letters between Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger that we'll show to our grandchildren.

_Miss Granger,_

_I apologize for bothering you so early on a Saturday morning, but there is a matter of importance which I must speak to you about in my office. Mr. Malfoy will meet you there. Please come in half an hour._

_Albus Dumbledore_

Well, there go my decorative boxes of love letters.

And why does the man never give the password to his office? Yes, I know, security reasons and all that, but couldn't he just write it down and have it magically disappear after you read it? The man is a bloody Wizard, after all.

I forgo the rest of my breakfast in favor of choosing outfits. I'm trying for "effortlessly amazing," like "yes, I wake up and look this great every day," but, you know…NOT like I'm trying. In light of the Sex God requesting a second date with yours truly, I can't have him seeing me looking like one of the Mole People or he'll never want to go out with me again.

Or so I've heard, from the other girls' gossip.

And if that gossip is anything to go by, seems to be an awful lot of pressure on women to look perfect at every minute of every day just in case they bump into the man of their dreams. Which brings me to my next question: how do women actually manage the whole living-with-the-boyfriend thing then? Are you supposed to leap out of bed before he opens his eyes every morning and get ready so he only sees you looking your best? And what if you're sick-do you put on makeup anyway? Will he pack his things and move out if he comes home and catches you in sweatpants?

Seems a bit ridiculous, if you ask me.

After trying and vetoing several different combinations, I finally settle on a casual sweater, jeans, and flats combination. Since I'm now officially ten minutes late for my meeting with Dumbledore, I forgo the makeup and dash out to his office.

I waste a few more minutes trying to guess the stupid password ("Pumpkin pasty…no? Mars Bars…no? OH COME ON!") before finally figuring out that it's "lemon drop" (of course) and by the time I race up into his office I'm breathing like a winded rhinoceros and everyone in the room is staring at me.

"Miss Granger, how nice of you to join us," Dumbledore says pleasantly (are his eyes really bloodshot? Has the man ever heard of Visine?). "Come in, have a seat."

I nod, and gratefully slide into one of the armchairs in front of his desk. I spare a quick glance at the Sex God, who is regarding Dumbledore with a curious expression.

I also notice that there are several other people in the room; a group of women I don't recognize. Behind the gaggle of women, Madam Hooch is standing with the Heads of Houses: all of them are wearing rather unhappy expressions.

I have a feeling I'm about to find out why the Quidditch season started so late this year.

"Just to get you up to speed, Miss Granger: I'm sure you, like the rest of the students, have been wondering about our beloved Quidditch games. In light of Quidditch star Thomas Dean Anderson's broom accident in the beginning of the year, some of the mothers of Hogwarts students were good enough to form Mothers Against Accidents on Brooms-or MAAB, if you will," Dumbledore informs me, gesturing at the group of strange women.

Ah yes, I vaguely remember hearing something about this. Anderson had been fooling around with some fan of his before a game back in January and had been caught by his wife, who had come out to check and see if he was ready to play. In an effort to escape her rage-fueled hexes, he'd jumped on his broom and promptly flown headlong into a tree.

I'm at a loss for how this would lead to a coalition of mothers fearful of broom accidents. The only other person on the planet silly enough to attempt crashing through things as a getaway plan from their own stupidity is Tiger Woods.

But then again, I was responsible for the formation of S.P.E.W. a few years ago. So I suppose I can't judge.

"Yvonne, I'm sure you can do a much better job of explaining the purpose of MAAB than I can," Dumbledore continues, gesturing at a seated woman whose severity is giving McGonagall a run for her money.

"Thank you Albus," Yvonne says, rising from her chair. "After we-" she motions at the other women standing around her-"heard about Mr. Anderson's accident, we began to wonder just how safe the game of Quidditch is for our children. If an experienced player can suffer such a terrible injury, than it is clear that anyone who plays Quidditch is at risk. And after a review of all the accidents that have happened at the schools over the last few years-well, I think it's obvious that this is an extremely dangerous sport that is not to be taken lightly." Yvonne pauses for a moment, as though to let the weight of her words sink in. She clears her throat slightly, and the mother examining her very manicured nails jumps in her seat and looks up at Yvonne with renewed attention.

"Delia," Yvonne says (rather cattily in my opinion), "I would so _love _for you to tell the staff what we propose to do."

The Sex God isn't the only person in the room to have an openly affronted expression at being referred down to as "staff."

"Yes, thank you, Yvonne," Delia says, standing up. "We are working to have Quidditch games banned from all schools. But in the meantime, we demand rigorous broom checks-to be sure they aren't tampered with in any way. We also demand that players fly at 40 miles per hour, for the safety of our children. We've been to see the Head of the Department of Magical Sports and Games, and they agreed that the flying speed at which school games are played is responsible for a large percentage of the accidents." At this point, she hands Dumbledore a piece of parchment. He feels around on his head for his glasses for a moment, before pulling them down to rest on his nose.

"We hope everyone here in this room can understand why these precautions are important," Delia finishes, and then returns to her seat.

At this point, both the Sex God and Madam Hooch are wearing equally appalled expressions. I'm usually clueless about Quidditch and even I understand that playing the game at 40 miles per hour is the equivalent of asking NASCAR drivers to zoom around at speeds usually reserved for their grandmothers.

"Albus," McGonagall says, seemingly unable to stay silent any longer. "I believe I speak for all the teachers when I say that while Mrs. Brown and her peers make some excellent points, this is really rather ridiculous. I-"

"Wait. Mrs. Brown? Your daughter doesn't even play Quidditch! What are you so concerned about?" the Sex God interrupts.

"Draco," Snape says warningly.

Let's take a time out to examine my position (which at some point, I'd like the Sex God on top, thanks).

I happen to agree with Malfoy and the teachers. This is utterly ridiculous. Yes, I've thought for a while now that some safety precautions are necessary, but there has to be another way of doing things. Also, after this year, I'm going to be an adult in the Wizarding world. I should be able to stand up for what I think, and speak with diplomacy.

Not to mention, my agreement might win some much needed points with the Sex God. I know, it's petty, but I can't help thinking it as I stand up from my chair.

"Professor Dumbledore," I say politely. "May I offer my thoughts?"

Dumbledore places the parchment on his desk and leans back in his chair. "Yes, of course, Miss Granger. Your opinion is always welcome."

"Thank you sir," I say. "I agree, some safety precautions are needed. However, there must be another way of doing things. We could, for example, hire a Medi-witch to be on the pitch during the games. I'm sure if Malfoy and I worked in conjunction with Madam Hooch, we could come up with some safety protocol that would satisfy both the parents _and _the students."

"Well put, Miss Granger," Dumbledore says happily. "That sounds wonderful. I will look for the new precautions drawn up by Mr. Malfoy and yourself to be on my desk by the next game."

More one-on-one time with the Sex God. An added perk I did not consider in my original plan. Well done, Hermione.

I glance over at the teachers. McGonagall nods at me in approval.

I've always liked her, and not just because she's my Head of House, either. She's a straight shooter, a no-nonsense kind of person. She's also very accessible to students, and will tell you exactly what she thinks about something. You don't get that from many people. It's really rather refreshing.

I lean back in my chair, feeling rather pleased with myself. Yvonne Brown, however, does not look so happy.

"Albus, I really must protest. It is inappropriate to allow students to draw up safety precautions! They have no children themselves and therefore cannot possibly examine the situation from every angle! And do you really mean to tell us that even in the face of all of this indisputable information we have presented, you are still going to allow today's game to be played?"

The Sex God bristles a bit at this, and it takes me a moment to remember that today's game is Slytherin versus Ravenclaw.

Dumbledore appears to be completely unfazed.

Did I just hear his stomach rumbling? The man's eaten an entire package of candy in the fifteen minutes we've been in here! He's lucky he doesn't lose his stomach contents all over the desk!

It's also always a mystery to me how that man has any teeth left. Whenever he smiles I half expect to see Reese's Pieces attached to his gums.

"Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy are our most capable students," he's saying. "And I will of course keep you in the loop, Yvonne. As for today's game, our students are very much looking forward to it-I would so hate to take away something they enjoy. Feel free to sit in the stands and keep an eye on things, if you wish."

Yvonne opens her mouth, clearly to argue more, but Snape beats her to it.

"I think, Professor, that we may dismiss our Head students. Mr. Malfoy does have a Quidditch game to prepare for, after all."

"Yes, yes," Dumbledore says. "The two of you may go. See you on the pitch!"

I follow the Sex God out of the room, grateful to be away from Mrs. Brown. Who could've guessed she'd be just as aggravating as her daughter?

We walk down the corridor in silence.

Say something about how awesome I am for standing up for Quidditch. Go on, you know you want to.

Oh, and mention that second date you promise. Come on, Blondie.

"I'm not coming back with you-gotta head down to the pitch and get ready," the Sex God says suddenly, breaking me out of my pathetic attempt at mind control.

"Oh, ok," I respond, trying to hide my disappointment.

He starts to walk in a different direction and then pauses, turning around. "Nice going in there, Granger," he says. "Will you be around tomorrow afternoon?"

TO GO ON A DATE. Say it, you dink.

"Uh, yeah."

"Alright, we can start working on the safety stuff then," he says.

"Sounds good," I answer. Then, before I can stop myself, I add, "Looking forward to it."

"Me too," the Sex God says, smiling a bit.

**0000000000**

I spent a ridiculous amount of time after lunch on Sunday picking an outfit and doing my hair.

I keep telling myself it's stupid, to get so dressed up for something barely a step above a study session.

And yet, the female in me can't seem to stop herself.

It's only when I find myself actually practicing pleasant faces and comparing phrases like "Oh, I'd love to!" versus "That sounds wonderful!" to say to him when he brings up our second date that I finally become disgusted with myself and exit my room.

I find the Sex God in the kitchen, dressed in jeans and a plain t-shirt and looking like a male model. After taking a few moments to perv his bum (oh come on, it was right in front of me!) I clear my throat to announce my presence. He jumps a little and turns around with a surprised look on his face.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," I giggle. "Ready?"

"Oh, damn. I apologize, Granger, I totally forgot that we were supposed to work on that Quidditch thing today," he says, grabbing his wand and shoving it into his back pocket.

"It's alright," I answer. "Did you want to take notes or should I? I thought we could start at the library and research Quidditch accidents, just to make sure we cover all possibilities."

"Yeah…about that," he begins, and I feel my stomach do an odd wiggle that suggests I'm about to hear some bad news.

"I can't today. Something else came up. I'll be back later or I'll just see you tomorrow and we'll work something out then, ok?"

"Right, sure," I say, doing my utmost to maintain a "it's all good" tone of voice. He nods and then, without another word, heads for the door and is gone.

I stand in the kitchen for a few minutes, trying to figure out what to do with all of the free time I suddenly have. I spent the entirety of last night doing all of my homework just so I could spend the day with him. I'd imagined that we would have such a good time that the afternoon would melt into the evening, and then he'd say that we should just have a private dinner together up in our Common Room.

Not wanting to waste such a nice outfit (and also not wanting to be alone with my slightly obsessive thoughts), I wander down to the Gryffindor Common Room in search of Ginny.

"Hey, Hermione," Harry says as I walk in. He's hunched over a star chart, occasionally writing down what I can only assume are the names of various stars that are going to predict the course of his week.

For about the millionth time, I am SO GLAD that I am no longer in Divination. I have enough homework without reading some globby tea leaves and trying to come up with some explanation for how they tell me I'm about to die an untimely death.

"We haven't seen much of you lately," he comments, setting down his quill and leaning back in his chair.

"Yeah, I know. My classes and homework are taking up a lot of my time, plus Dumbledore's got me on the Quidditch safety project."

"Right, I heard about that. Well, if you find that Malfoy's opinions are chock full of ego and you'd like another perspective, I'd be more than happy to help," Harry offers.

"Yeah, I'll let you know, thanks," I say. I think the more pressing issue is the awkwardness that's been following this conversation like a bad smell. Ron is great to joke around with and can offer some surprising insights sometimes, but Harry has always been good for a nice honest, serious conversation (even though I would have to comment that his grades don't often reflect how smart he actually is, just another reason why I've been pushing him for nearly seven years to do better in school).

Keeping the "honest" part in mind, I take a seat across from him. "Harry…is it just me, or are things a bit weird between us right now?" I ask.

He smiles sheepishly. "A bit, I guess. But it's really not you, I've just been thinking a lot about Ginny and myself."

Ah. And here it comes.

"Hermione, I have to ask. Did you know Ginny wanted to see other people?"

STUPID Hermione. Should've just kept on walking straight up to the girls' dormitories. But noooo, instead you had to sit down and be SOCIAL. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

"I wasn't really sure what was going on between you two," I say (and it is sort of the truth. I really did have no idea what was going on from Harry's side. There. Truth.)

Luckily for me, however, I don't have to say any more than that. Harry is clearly going to take the reins on this one.

"I just feel like I should've seen it coming, you know? I feel like I should have noticed how unhappy she was. And yet somehow, I was too selfish: I never even noticed her when she was there, and now…" he gestures helplessly.

Sigh. Men.

"Harry," I say, leaning forward a bit, "this isn't anyone's fault. You're in the public eye rather often, and you and Ginny were such an obvious match that everyone simply assumed it would work out. But nobody knows what goes on behind closed doors. Everything will work itself out for the best."

At this, Harry smiles at me a bit. "Thanks, Hermione," he says. "That's very wise of you."

Yes, yes. I somehow manage to be wise in everyone else's love life, save my own.

How ironic.

You can put that on my epitaph.

And now, for a quick escape.

"Looks like you have a lot of work to do," I remark, glancing pointedly at the pile of scrolls, bits of which have things like "you'll die tomorrow" or "early death predicted right around Christmas" on them.

"Yeah," he says, straightening up and adjusting his glasses. "Trust you to notice that."

"Not that I would consider a daily death or dismemberment prediction actual work, but since you're taking the class you had better get to it. I'll see you at dinner, yeah?"

I begin to edge towards the stairs, nodding at him. He nods back and then picks up a book entitled _30 Reasons Why You Are Not Meant for a Long Life_.

F that class in the A. Barreling my way through the trapdoor in the middle of classtime was one of the best things I've ever done for myself.

Seriously, I don't know about you, but if I'm going to be toast tomorrow I'd rather not have my last memories of life involving being told such news over a crystal ball with my clothing being permeated by incense.

I enter the sixth year girls' dormitories to find Ginny alone, folding some clothing.

"Hey Gin," I say as I flop down on her bed.

"Hey Hermione. Great outfit," she responds.

"Thanks. It seems I dressed up for a wasted effort."

"What do you mean?"

I wait until she's finished jamming what look suspiciously like Ron's frayed Yule Ball robes into a corner of her trunk before plunging into my tale of woe.

"Well, remember how I told you over dinner yesterday about that project Dumbledore assigned to the Heads, and how this is going to be such a great opportunity for me to show the Sex God that underneath this nerdy exterior I'm really a charming, sensitive, intelligent woman filled with wit and life?"

"Yeah," she says. "Weren't you supposed to be working with him today? Is that what the get-up is for?"

"Originally. As it turns out, he told me he'd forgotten all about it, and then blew out of the room before I could say anything else. He didn't even mention our second date," I add miserably.

"Oh, Hermione, I'm sorry. Men can be such asses sometimes," Ginny says sympathetically. "I swear, you can write them a full-scale reminder and staple it to their foreheads and they still won't know. Clueless, the lot of them."

I nod.

"Although," she continues thoughtfully, "I must say I'm surprised you haven't brought it up to him yourself. You've been out on a few dates before, haven't you? With those Muggle boys you told me about? Don't remember hearing any reports from you about shyness then."

Ah yes. "Those Muggle boys."

Thomas Wyclef was a boy I went out on two very innocent, seemingly pleasurable dates with two summers ago. When it came time for me to go back to school, and thus for any dating to go on hiatus, he quite lost his mind and proceeded to ring my parents' house phone five times a day for a month.

Thankfully, my parents learned to ignore his phone calls after a week, although my dad did make some remark that involved "that man Dimpledore" giving us permission to use "some sort of banishing spell for this twink."

Then the next summer there was Henry Fitzroy, who seemed perfectly normal until he informed me that he tried to decide if he could marry a girl by the second date, and if he couldn't see himself with her forever, the relationship was over. Mind you, he told me this over our third date, but not before he remarked that he automatically mentally attached a price tag to every woman he saw walking down the street.

I shudder to remember. Eek.

"I don't want to sound too obvious," I explain. "I know it sounds silly, but I'd like for at least one potential relationship in my life to sort of just carry itself along, without me having to constantly push it to the next step."

At this, Ginny sighs. "I know exactly what you mean," she informs me with an odd look on her face.

"You-what's happened?" I ask. "Sorry, I've been so wrapped up in the whole Sex God thing I totally forgot to ask you how things in your life were going."

"Oh it's fine," she says, waving a hand at me as if to dismiss my concerns. "I only may have screwed things up with Blaise for like forever."

"Really? How?"

"Well I switched patrol shifts with Parvati the other night so I could spend a bit of time with him. We were getting along really well and all, and of course we ended up in an empty classroom doing a bit of kissing."

"Of course," I say dryly. Blaise Zabini has a bit of a reputation for landing himself in empty classrooms with lady friends.

Or at least, so I've heard. And if I, the least gossipy girl in all of Hogwarts, have heard it, then so has everybody else.

"So naturally, he wants to go a bit further. And I…I don't know what happened! I just kind of freaked out and it was like something went off in my brain and next thing I know I'm babbling about how I'm not sure if I'm ready for this and I don't want to be considered a slut!"

She looks at me in horror, obviously waiting for me to say something comforting.

"Uh, well," I say, clearing my throat a bit, "at least you successfully killed the mood."

"Hermione!" Ginny shrieks, giggling.

"Well, I'm sorry, but what else do you want me to say? Do you want me to criticize you for having said something because you didn't feel you were ready? And from what I've heard from Harry and Ron talking, guys enjoy a bit of a chase." I pause a bit to consider this statement. "Then again, they also seem to tire of the chase rather quickly, so it's really a crapshoot."

Ginny smiles. "I love how you pepper our little talks with your adorable Muggle terms. And I know, you're right. I didn't even do anything with Harry either, we just kissed also."

"If you're not ready, then it's fine. And if he isn't interested in respecting that, then he can go find someone else to shag."

Ginny looks rather satisfied at this, but her worries about being called a "slut" are bothering me. What makes a person a slut? And why does this term really only seem to apply to women? There's also the other rather obvious fact that "slut" is an extremely subjective term: we call women we don't like "sluts" and then make excuses for our friends, even if both friend and enemy have slept with the exact same number of people. And is it about the number of guys, or the type of guy?

If you ask me, women really need to stop with the friendly-fire insults. And the battle to avoid being called a "slut" is a losing one, because if some girl doesn't like you, she still thinks you're a ho.

Go figure.

It's times like this I wish I was born a boy.

But, moving on.

"Uh, Gin? While I'm here, I think I should mention that Harry stopped me for a bit of a chat down in the Common Room. He seems quite upset that you two are over."

"UGH," Ginny sighs with such vehemence that I instantly realize this is a stone I ought to have left unturned. "That's all Ron's been talking about all week. Poor Harry this, poor Harry that. And I bet when he talked to you, it was all about him, right? 'Oh poor little me, the weight of the world is on my shoulders. I, I, I, me, me, me. See, this is exactly why I felt it necessary to examine other options besides The Boy Who Whines."

"Wow, Ginny, don't hold back," I say after a moment's pause.

But clearly, Ginny isn't finished ranting.

"And you know what, in his eternal quest to not be selfish, he somehow manages to be the most self-absorbed person I have ever met! Everything is about him! Well you know what, I'm a person too. And I have needs and feelings and concerns, same as everybody else. He just needs to get over himself. But nooo, Ron's kicked off the 'Harry Is A Wounded, Soulful Panda' Campaign 2009, and unfortunately I'm the only recipient of his campaign speeches! I am SO sick of this! He can officially change his moniker from 'The Boy Who Lived' to 'The Boy Who Had To Buy A Separate Home For His Ego.'"

I should probably point out that all the while she's been ranting, she's been taking it out on her poor laundry, who never did anything except get dizzy in the spin cycle.

"Finished?" I ask. She seems to have stopped for breath. Bit red in the face though.

"Yeah," she says. "Look, I hate to kick you out, but Snape is on the warpath this year with the homework. I swear he's trying to kill everyone."

"It's fine," I say, laughing a bit. "Good chat, glad we both got everything out of our systems. Especially you."

"Yeah, well, my head would probably explode if you weren't around to rant at. So when you get back to your Common Room this evening and spot the Sex God in all his sexiness sexily reading in front of a sexy fire, you're going to sit down and have a chat with him about that second date, right?"

"Yes I am. I am Hermione Granger, empowered women of the 21st century. I can totally do this."

I begin to head out the door, smiling to myself when she shouts, "That's what I like to hear!" after me.

I can totally ask Draco out for our second date. How hard could this be?

**0000000000**

**I hate homework, and it hates me. **

**But** **I love you guys. I hope you enjoyed it! Read and review!**

**Love,**

**Carrie**


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